


Hunting The Wolfhound

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Category: S.T.A.L.K.E.R.
Genre: 100 Rads Bar (Location), Alcohol, Army Warehouses (Location), Canon-Typical Violence, Chernobyl Atomic Power Station (Location), Developing Friendships, Duty Faction - Freeform, Exploration, Freedom Faction - Freeform, Gen, Military Homophobia, Monolith Faction - Freeform, Original Character Death(s), Pripyat (Location), Radar/Brain Scorcher (Location), References to Canon, References to Drugs, Science Fiction, Wild Territory (Location)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Based on S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Shadow of Chernobyl and the O.G.S. Evolution mod.
When his best friend Kostik is murdered by mercs, Valik finds himself in an unlikely grouping with a Freedom stalker searching for the same mercenary and a Duty sergeant whose life he saved. Through cold storms, the peril of mutant attacks and the threat of enemy warriors, the three journey across Rostok, the Army Warehouses, the Red Forest and beyond-one out to prove himself to his officers, one fleeing his past, and one searching for a miracle.





	1. Stash In The Village

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah... the final S.T.A.L.K.E.R. game was released seven years ago, and probably I'm the only die-hard fan left, but maybe someone will stumble across it and like it. In my opinion, this is one of my best stories and I'm really proud of it, so I figured I'd release it out into the world even though I doubt anyone will read it.

_There is nothing here_ , he reminded himself.

This was true… at least as far as it could be in the Zone. He had looked at the place yesterday with Kostik Ear to check and see how safe it was. By Zone standards it had seemed relatively safe at the time—no anomalies, no radiation, no psi-emissions, no mutants.

So why was he feeling a creeping dread crawling up his back?

Kostik Ear was no longer alive. He’d been shot to death by Mercenaries two hours ago, and so Valik Pin was forced to go on the looting expedition alone. It was a desolate grey area somewhere between the Duty faction controlled part of Rostok and the Army Warehouses where the Freedom faction held its base, where there were no boundaries, no rules, no nothing but whoever was stupid enough to go there alone.

Valik was sure he wasn’t stupid—at least, he had been sure yesterday when his companion was still alive and he had been scoping out this area in the sunlight. Now it was raining and he was alone, and all the hairs on his body were standing on end.

_Why didn’t we just pick up the shit yesterday when we were already here?_ he thought to himself, even though he knew the answer. Kostik had always done that—checked out the location for a stash and then left for a day to come back later. It didn’t make much sense to Valik, but he’d always followed his friend.

Glaring down the iron sights with one eye, with his ears tuned to the area around him, he began creeping slowly down the bank toward the village. There must be something of value here, or else Kostik probably wouldn’t have been so eager to explore it. Valik’s companion had had a nose for loot.

Trying to push the thoughts of the dead stalker from his mind, Valik moved expertly from cover to cover with quick, nearly silent movements. He had not survived in the Zone for three months by being clumsy, and he prided himself on having footing so nimble that he could practically step through an anomaly unscathed.

_**BDAM! BDAM!** _

Valik threw himself to the ground when gunshots erupted in front of him. He almost expected a bullet to go punching through his body at any second. But there was no pain, there was no sound of lead flying over his head or past his ears. The shooter was firing at someone else, and that someone else was not Valik.

Curious, but startled and alert now, Valik slowly looked up and saw a greenish form moving between two buildings with a scoped H&K G36 assault rifle raised to his shoulder. What was the Freedom faction doing here? Valik probably wasn't going to get an answer to this question any time soon, but he might at least find out who was shooting. He moved closer, his battered gun, an old AKSU, shouldered and ready, and watched as more flaming projectiles were traded between the Freedom stalker and his opponent.

A loud roaring echoed throughout the village as the unseen stalker opened fire. It was a bellowing sound that could not possibly come from anything that a normal stalker would see in his lifetime, let alone carry in his hands, and Valik wracked his brain trying to remember where he had heard it before.

He darted out of cover and in between two different halfway collapsed huts, and though he was not noticed he did recognize the color scheme of the other stalker’s uniform and immediately remembered where he had heard the gun.

It was an OTs-Groza heavy assault rifle. The warrior holding it was clad in a jet black suit with red Kevlar inserts that made up a thick bulletproof vest.

_I should have known_ , he realized as he listened to the Duty fighter and the Freedom faction member trade shots for many seconds. It stopped for a few seconds and just as Valik poked his head out to look it started up again. He ducked back against the wall, trying to avoid being caught by a stray round.

The two stalkers kept up their exchange for a short time until finally there was a yelp of pain and a triumphant shout from one of them, both sounds muffled by gas masks.

Valik decided it was safe enough to come out if one of them was incapacitated, and peered around a corner. Not seeing anything, he moved toward the place where he had last heard the noise and suddenly was face to face with the Duty stalker. The man leaned heavily on the wall of a building, his Groza abandoned on the ground and blood leaking out from under the hand he had pressed to his shoulder.

“Help, stalker,” he wheezed. Valik saw that behind the lenses of his gas mask his eyes rolled back into his skull and closed, then he collapsed, apparently unconscious.

Valik just stood in a stupor, unsure if he should help this man or not. If the Freedom stalker saw him helping the Dutyer, he might be killed himself. If he did not help and the Duty warrior died, it would be on his conscience for the rest of his life.

The decision was made for him when a gravelly, crackly shout over his walkie-talkie announced that a blowout was approaching. All of his instincts screamed for him to save himself and run for cover, but he could not let anyone die like that, helpless.

His conscience having gotten the better of him, he slung his assault rifle over his back and hoisted the Dutyer onto his shoulders. Then, staggering under the other man’s crushing weight, he stumbled into the building with the most intact roof and almost fell down the crude steps into the cellar.

Boots clomped overhead and the Freedom stalker all but threw himself down the stairs after Valik, his breaths sawing in and out of his gas mask.

“Dude, _why!?!_ ” the Freedom warrior demanded, jabbing his finger at the wounded Dutyer. “You gotta be kidding me!”

Valik just glanced at him, but decided not to answer right away. Against his better judgment, he pulled one of his own medkits out of his pack and began working at the wound. The bullet had gone straight through and had missed anything vital, and Valik surmised that the Dutyer had probably passed out from a combination of pain and the sight of his own blood.

It was easily patched because Valik had done this before, and the Duty stalker would probably come to by the time the blowout was over, though he would be sore. Valik pulled off the man’s gas mask so he could breathe more easily and set it beside him, then sat down in the corner nearby and looked at the Freedom fighter.

Looking at his patient, he was not surprised at what he saw. Considering that most of Duty’s activities involved the slaughter of mutants, the injured man’s face looked like it had suffered a number of painful impacts over the years, and his cheeks and forehead were ridged with scars.

“Because I can’t just kill people through neglect,” he admitted with a shrug, turning back to the other inhabitant of the space. “Come on, you wouldn’t just leave him helpless, it’s not human…”

“No, you come on, man,” the Freedom stalker protested. “This guy has been stalking me for like a week now trying to kill me for just about no reason! He wouldn’t think twice about leaving me out there anyway, Duty guys are fucking assholes!”

“Well… you must have done something to piss him off, usually Duty soldiers have better things to do than follow around one lone Freedom guy…”

“Um… I mean, I picked up this artifact once, it wasn’t even the one I wanted, but then I hear him shouting down the hill at me, right? He screams at me that that’s his and now I’m going to ‘eat some hot lead…’”

Valik rolled his eyes.

“I think you got some bad hash, _bratan_. Duty guys don’t pick up artifacts that I’ve seen.”

“I don’t do that stuff. Just regular pot.”

Valik snorted and shook his head, trying to ignore the raging storm outside. Blowouts, or “surges” as they were also known, were lethal to all animals and humans that were not sheltered from them. Even mutants hid. After the first couple though, they were not so much frightening for him as they were a whole lot of boring. The longest one he’d had to sit through was almost an entire day, though usually they were only about two hours at most.

“So who are you, _bratan?_ ” Valik asked, digging in his pack for his harmonica or some vodka or something to keep him occupied.

“I am Kolya Truck.”

“Kolya Truck? How the hell did you get something so stupid as your callsign?” Valik snorted as he pulled a partly-emptied bottle out of his pack.

“Because I can smoke a truck-full of joints in one sitting,” Kolya said proudly, reaching out an expectant hand in the direction of Valik’s alcohol. Valik rolled his eyes and passed it over so that Kolya could take a sip.

“I should have figured,” he muttered, watching Kolya pull off his gas mask so he could take a long gulp from the bottle. After he’d finished, he pulled his mask back on before handing it back.

“So, what about you, man? How are you called?” the Freedom stalker asked conversationally.

“Valik Pin. I move so well that my friend told me I could balance with my big toe on the head of a pin and not fall off into an anomaly.”

“Hey, that’s actually pretty cool. Is this guy your friend?” Kolya Truck asked, jerking his thumb at the unconscious Duty warrior.

“No, I don’t know him. My friend died a couple of hours ago. Kostik Ear. He could smell loot a kilometer away. There was something he wanted here, but he never told me what it was.”

“Tough break, man. What got him?”

“Well… Kostik had left some stash in Wild Territory, way back when because he had too much shit to carry, you know? And he wanted to see if it was still there, so that he could sell it… but the mercs were there. They didn’t know we were coming but we didn’t know they were there. We just sort of ran into each other by accident, really, and then they, um, they started shooting. Kostik got killed, but I didn’t because I ran. I didn’t run from the fight, I ran from the bloodsucker…”

Valik shuddered as he remembered.

“Hey, you want to hear a joke?” Kolya Truck asked after being silent for a moment.

“Sure,” Valik shrugged. He doubted it would make him feel better, but he decided to humor the Freedom stalker for lack of other options.

“Three old residents of the Zone started chatting: ‘Eh, I remember, just after the explosion apples kept growing so big… I took one home, placed it on a chair, and the chair collapsed!’ ‘Don’t ya say! I harvested once an apple, put it on my table—the table collapsed!’ ‘That’s all nuts! Once I was driving a cart and saw a really big apple. I harvested it, put it in the cart… ’ The other two, simultaneously: ‘The cart collapsed?’ ‘No. A worm came out and swallowed my horse.’”

Valik was slightly amused, but not enough to laugh.

“Was it bad?” Kolya Truck asked, his voice somewhat anxious.

“No, no… just… I’m not in a laughing mood today.”

In reality, he was thinking, _How the fuck can anyone expect me to laugh when_ _my companion just got killed?_

“You seem really grim, man,” Kolya commented, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Valik said, shrugging his shoulders. In the eyepiece of Kolya’s gas mask, he could see his reflection: the rain had washed away the usual layer of grime from his skin, showing thin, dark stubble across his otherwise featureless face. He looked away, not wanting to meet his own brown stare.

It was beginning to flash outside, which meant that it was probably about ten minutes from being over. Valik was surprised. This was unusually short for a surge. His thoughts were interrupted when the Dutyer moaned and began to stir. He reached out and touched his shoulder, then sat up and looked around. Immediately he tried to leap to his feet and attack the Freedom stalker.

“Keep still! I worked hard on that dressing!” Valik snapped, forcing him down.

This was no small feat—the Dutyer was in good physical shape and had a robust stature; he could probably have snapped the skinny Freedom stalker like a twig. Even so, despite being short Valik was stocky from former military service, which helped him greatly here.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you for shooting me, you fuck!” the Dutyer bellowed.

“Hey man, you tried to kill me first, so cool your damn head! There’s a blowout going on, and we can go back to killing each other after it goes away, but right now I’m content to just sit and wish it was over. Okay? Can we keep a truce for that long?” Kolya Truck asked, holding up his hands at chest-level with the palms out and his fingers spread in a peaceful gesture.

The Duty warrior stopped struggling and rested his back against a wall. He scowled at both of them.

“You’re lucky that Valik Pin was here to save you, though,” Kolya added. “I would’ve just left you out there.”

“Valik Pin?” the Dutyer snorted.

“His is worse,” Valik insisted, nodding at the Freedom stalker. “ _Kto ti?_ You must have a name, too.”

“Sergeant Vladislav Yavoshenko. At least I got a real name.”

“You know,” Kolya said, “we got these from our comrades, so I guess your bros in Rostok just don’t like you enough to give you a callsign… how sad…”

Valik tensed as Sergeant Yavoshenko gave a growl at Kolya’s sarcasm, but surprisingly the Duty stalker didn’t attack.

“So hey, why are you after this guy?” Valik asked the Duty warrior, jerking his head at Kolya.

“Hey, don’t look at me, he fucking shot at me first,” Sergeant Yavoshenko growled, then the two of them started yelling and arguing. It would have come to a fistfight if Valik had not stopped them.

“Can you fucking lay off each other for a second?” Valik demanded impatiently, forcing Sergeant Yavoshenko back again. “I don’t give a shit who shot at who first, just leave each other alone for God’s sake!”

“Yes, _mother_ ,” Yavoshenko muttered, and Kolya snickered.

At least they were getting along in some form, even if that was in making fun of him. He grimaced but resolved to himself that they were no longer at each other’s throats. Glancing up the stairs for a second, it looked like the blowout was almost over, but Valik couldn’t think of a reason why it would end so quickly. Unless…

The flashing stopped and Valik looked up the stairs. Something wasn’t right. Almost immediately his vision blurred and a pounding headache stabbed into his skull.

“A psi-surge,” he moaned, crawling into a corner. Even though it wouldn't protect him, he pulled his beat-up gas mask with the “coffee-can” filter over his face and huddled against himself.

Kolya covered his ears with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, and apparently was hallucinating about something really terrible because he began whimpering and begging for his mother. Blowouts didn't scare Valik, but psi-emissions did. They were able to reduce even the toughest soldiers to whimpering children.

Sergeant Yavoshenko was the least affected. He closed his eyes and began whispering to himself: “Hail Mary, full of grace…” It must have been a pretty good distraction, because he didn’t curl into a ball like Valik and Kolya.

Valik began hearing things that made him flinch. The mercs laughing as they butchered Kostik. The roaring of the bloodsuckers. Kostik’s last, burbling breaths. Valik looked up and saw a ghost-image of his friend, standing there with a dozen holes blown through him. He reached out with blood-covered hands.

“NO! NO! NO!” Valik screamed, thrashing his arms to try to make it go away.

In his panicked frenzy he almost smacked Kolya upside the head but hit the concrete wall instead, making his knuckles crack painfully. The image finally disappeared just when Valik was ready to surrender his sanity for good. The psi-surge had ended at last, and all three of them were still alive. Valik gave a deep sigh of relief, then pulled off his gas mask just in time to see Kolya with his gun shouldered and Yavoshenko holding his pistol. Each weapon was leveled at the other’s head.

“Fuck me! Can’t you get along for more than a minute?” he shouted, getting to his feet and slapping down the barrels of their guns.

Kolya grimaced, and Valik was thankful that Sergeant Yavoshenko didn’t attempt to charge the Freedom stalker a third time; he doubted he had the energy to hold the Dutyer back again. Sighing again, he shook his head at them.

“Look. I told you, kill each other when I’m not around. But for right now, I need to find a stash, and I can’t do that with lead flying across the whole village. Okay?”

“What stash? There’s a stash here?” Yavoshenko asked.

Kolya’s eyes flashed behind his gas mask, and then he looked in another direction.

“Are you okay?” Valik asked, cocking his head at the Freedom stalker. Really, though, he was trying to get Kolya to admit that he knew something because he obviously did. Apparently it worked.

“Well… I mean… okay, fine, yeah. There’s a stash here. I’m looking for it to track some asshole,” Kolya admitted. “This stash might tell me if it was left by the guy I’m looking for. So I mean, I need it. I have to find this guy, he’s stealing from my faction and they sent me to get him.”

“I was only looking for it because Kostik said there was something here,” Valik admitted. “If you need it—”

“No.” Yavoshenko cut him off. “You already made a claim to it. Let this cock-sucking rat find his trail somewhere else.”

“And where did this come from?” Valik asked, confused. “You were just making fun of me a little while ago, now you’re defending me? What’s up with you?”

“I gotta help you.” Yavoshenko shrugged.

“Why?”

“You helped me. At Duty, we always pay our debts. So now I gotta help you until my debt’s paid off.”

“You really don’t—”

“Yeah, I got to,” Yavoshenko insisted. “You ain't in Duty so you don’t get how it works, but I got to. Anyway. You seen my gun?”

“Um… sure, I know where you dropped it,” Valik stammered, surprised by this new turn of events.

The three of them ventured out of the collapsing house and into the rain, which was still pouring down as if from buckets. Valik picked up the Groza and handed it to Sergeant Yavoshenko, then they checked the huts on one side of the street while Kolya looked through the ones on the other side. It was Valik who saw it first.

“HEY! I found it!” he said, having to scream to be heard over the driving torrents.

Wiping water off his face with his wet glove, Valik pulled a grey backpack out of the wreckage that had once been a wall and dragged it outside. It didn’t weigh very much, so there probably wasn’t a lot in it. Kolya and Sergeant Yavoshenko came over to watch as he opened it. Rummaging the pockets, all he came up with was a PDA and some stick drives.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Valik asked, looking at the Freedom stalker.

Kolya didn’t say anything, just snatched the PDA and the flash drives out of his hands. Thumbing the device to life, he inserted one flash drive, then another and another until he’d looked at everything.

“Yes. Yes, this is exactly what I’ve been looking for. One of Wolfhound’s crooks has been stealing shit from us and I’ve been trying to hunt him down before he can get the info back to his boss.”

“Wolfhound?” Valik asked, his interest piqued.

“Yeah, him. Why, is he important to you?”

“His cronies shot my friend to death.”

“Well, if you want to beat on him, be my guest,” Kolya muttered, stuffing the contents of the backpack into his webbing.

“What do you mean by that?” Valik asked.

“I mean you can come if you want, but I don’t recommend it. It’ll get pretty hairy.”

The sound of shooting caught their attention and they looked to see Yavoshenko blasting away madly at something. The Dutyer grimaced as his assault rifle bucked against his shoulder, until finally he gave a shout of triumph.

“HA! Eat that, _mudak!_ ” he shouted.

Valik and Kolya went over to see that Sergeant Yavoshenko had shot someone. The man wore bluish-grey armor and a black gas mask with the filter to the side. He had dropped a scoped M-16, and there was no mistaking the blue hawk’s head badge on his shoulder. A Mercenary. Two rounds had punched through his stomach and he was in no state to do much of anything but lay there. Valik didn’t care. Looking at this person, all he could think of was Kostik, and he did not try to disguise his anger. He stormed over and grabbed the merc by his bulletproof vest, then wrenched him to his feet, which drew a cry of pain from the injured man.

“What are you doing here, Mercenary?” Valik growled.

The words were muffled by the man’s gas mask, so Valik ripped it off his face. “Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! I was sent by my boss! I’m not here to shoot you! I just need to find something! Oh, please don’t kill me!” the merc begged, pain written on his face and his eyes and nose streaming.

Valik dropped the merc, who collapsed onto the ground on his back with another yelp of agony. Valik didn’t pity him in the least.

“Who do you work for? Tell me, and I won’t kill you,” he promised.

“I… I work for Fedka Wire. He… he… he…” The Mercenary coughed roughly, blood starting to come out of his mouth.

“He what? Tell me!” Valik demanded.

“He… he sells things. But he lost something. I… I was just… just sent to get it.”

Valik narrowed his eyes at the merc and pulled his hunting knife from its sheath.

“Wait! You said you wouldn’t kill me!”

“You’re a liability,” he grunted, plunging it into the man’s jugular before he could react. He held tight as the struggling weakened, watching the pond of blood grow, until the thrashing ceased altogether. He pulled the blade free and wiped it off on the merc’s uniform before sliding it home on his belt. Valik didn’t feel sorry. He immediately began rummaging the dead merc’s pockets and webbing, looking for anything useful, but found only ammunition. In any case, his assault rifle was in very good condition, and it would come in handy if Valik’s AKSU failed him.

“So now we go and find this Fedka Wire?” Valik asked, looking at Kolya.

The Freedom stalker shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess we do.”


	2. Rostok Factory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A merc sniper notices trespassers after a day that had already been slightly off.

There hadn't been any messages that day.

Actually, save for a routine blowout from the CAPS, today had been pretty boring for Dimka Boot. He had sat around in camp, his day only punctuated for about half an hour of hiding inside one of the buildings in the construction site while the surge raged outside, fiddling with his weapons and waiting for the rain to let up. But aside from boredom, the lack of messages might prove to be a bad thing, he knew. Without messages, they had no idea what was happening in the outside world. Fedka Wire would probably not be happy with this, even though it wasn’t Dimka’s fault.

Right now it was almost 20.00 hours and Fedka hadn't arrived yet.

Even stranger was the fact that Yakov Boulder had not returned. He’d claimed that Fedka had sent him out on a special mission, and he had never returned even though he had insisted it would only take a couple of hours. It had been almost five.

Dimka wiped rainwater from the lenses of his gas mask with his Gore-Tex glove and then took hold of his M-16 in his hand. His was special, upgraded to be more accurate with a slower rate of fire and rigged with a silencer and a scope so that he could snipe with it from his post on top of one of the factory buildings near the construction site. However it still had a grenade launcher if he needed it. Many careless wanderers had met their end by his barrel.

Bundled inside of his synthetic-fabric grey and blue camouflaged suit, he was completely warm and dry even though it was only about nine or ten degrees. It was cold enough that the breath coming from his gas mask vents was steaming, though in the darkness no one would see that.

Through his gas mask and his hood he could hear the steady drumming of the rain on the roof around him, on the branches of the few dead trees scattered around, on his own body. It was a soothing noise, and if he hadn't been hyped up on an energy drink it would have lulled him into sleep. It was his turn for night watch. What he should have been doing all day was sleeping, but instead he had been waiting for Yakov Boulder or a message. He regretted that now, because he knew he would probably doze off in the middle of his shift and get into more trouble with Fedka.

Lazily, he moved his gun, peering through his green-lit night vision scope with one eye. Below him, ducked behind cover with their own weapons readied, were three more Mercenaries on guard: Lyonya Valve, Seryozha Rope, Sascha Ice. They were almost invisible in the blackness, and without his scope he wouldn’t have been able to detect them.

Something settled into Dimka’s gut. It was a crawling, unpleasant feeling, much the same one he had gotten before he’d been crippled by a bullet from a soldier when the Ukrainian military had decided to try to take over the Wild Territory. His knee would never work right again, though that had been months ago and he could run at a moderate pace now. Thinking of this, he looked down at his knee and fingered the spot where the bullet had punched through his joint, permanently fixing him to the position of sniper because he was less mobile than most of the others in his camp.

[ _Attention Squad Wolf. Squad Badger approaching. Do not open fire,_ ] said the comm.-bead inside his ear.

“Squad Badger, you are outside your district,” he growled because he was in charge of this watch. “Why are you approaching?”

[ _Possible intrusion in the area of the Rostok factory. Squad Jackal is requesting assistance. They’ve already taken a few fatalities._ ]

“WHAT?” he shouted, forgetting to be quiet in case there was an enemy be nearby. “Who’s causing that much damage?”

[ _Unknown. Hold your positions, Volk. We don’t need your help._ ]

Dimka scowled. Karik Badger was even pushier and more self-aggrandizing than most other Mercenary Squad Leaders, and thought that members of other Squads needed his permission to do anything. His district was at the far end of Rostok itself, near the edge of Yantar, but he thought it was his right to move through other districts as well. There were three Mercenary Squads in Wild Territory, each squad led by a Squad Leader and about fifteen men strong. Each Squad was within a district of Wild Territory, where Squad Jackal, led by Mikola Jackal, was at end near the bar and Squad Wolf’s was about the edge of the Rostok Factory and in the confines of the construction site.

[ _Dimka Boot! What are you doing up there, scratching your balls!?! Why aren’t you shooting?_ ] demanded the angry voice of Fedka Wire.

“What? Shooting at what?” he asked, swinging his gun around wildly.

The only response he got was a shriek of pain, followed by a sharp crackle before it went to static and then fell silent. Dimka froze for a moment, realizing that the other merc was probably dead. He couldn’t let that distract him. Slowly he moved to the other side of the roof, staring through his night vision scope. But he saw nothing other than the buildings, wrecked cars, construction debris and the rain.

A bellowing roar sounded on the other side of the roof, and his eyes widened in fear behind the lenses of his gas mask. A bloodsucker. There was frantic shouting below that was drowned out with gunfire and then screaming. After that it was silent.

Dimka didn’t go back to that side and look over the edge of the roof. He knew what he would see if he did. Swallowing, he sat down, clutching his assault rifle to his chest and thinking about what would happen when Wolfhound showed up and saw part of his squad killed.

Then suddenly, he heard something. Gripping his gun in his fingers so hard he thought it might crack, he looked over the side and saw something moving between some rubble, then another and a third. They all wore gas masks and held rifles, but they definitely weren’t part of a Mercenary Squad. They were too cautious and not uniform enough in their movements.

Dimka raised his scope to his eye and fired at the first one but missed. The three enemy warriors darted into cover and he lost track of them. Growling at himself for his lousy aim, he sprayed a magazine down at the place where he’d seen them, hoping to get them pinned until the three others below could get their shit together and help take care of it. Except that wouldn't happen, he realized, because the others were dead.

There was only one thing that Dimka could do at this point. He would have to let them get away temporarily, then he would hunt them down in a more advantageous location and kill them. He watched through his scope as one poked his head out, then another. The third one was nowhere to be seen. Dimka looked around just in time for twenty bullets to come springing up at him from the ground. Either his reflexes were good or the enemy’s aim was bad, because he dropped down behind the lip of the roof just in time and threw himself flat without getting hit.

Their rapid steps faded and he knew they had gotten away. Dimka all but flung himself down the ladder to where they had been and picked up a handful of expelled cartridges. They were large 9X39mm, which along with the noise meant that the assault rifle was a Groza and the operator was probably from the Duty faction.

A loud exploding noise and fire from a helicopter’s machine-gun made him jump. A call went out over the comm. that a government chopper was overhead and that all manpower was needed. Squad Wolf’s sector was being attacked; the three enemies would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided the Wild Territory mercs should actually be organized into squads like how they were in Clear Sky and Call of Pripyat, because it sort of made more sense for the story and made Dimka's plight a bit more interesting.


	3. Mercenary Faction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vladik, Valik and Kolya attempt to sneak by a group of mercs.

The three of them sought shelter in one of the derelict factory buildings far from the construction site, towards the edge of Rostok, which put them near the wooded part of Wild Territory. The Mercenaries were less likely to find them there because it was dangerous; the bloodsuckers alone were legion.

“I’ll take first watch,” Sergeant Yavoshenko volunteered. “No smoking, anarchist. You’ll draw attention to us.”

Kolya scowled but obeyed. Valik didn’t say anything, but was secretly thankful that Yavoshenko had, because he didn’t want to inhale whatever it was that Kolya had been about to light up.

Valik pulled his bedroll out of his pack and took off his boots, then burrowed into the waterproof sleeping bag with his AKSU clutched to his chest. He was asleep almost instantly despite the possible danger from mutants and from being discovered by mercs; today had been exhausting for him.

He slept heavily but still woke up tired, and on top of this he was sore from carrying Sergeant Yavoshenko and then wrestling with him twice after. Groaning, he sat up and saw that Kolya Truck was now standing guard and the Dutyer was sleeping.

“Remind me to never haul your ass around on my shoulders again,” he grunted, prodding Yavoshenko into wakefulness.

Sergeant Yavoshenko just growled and tried to roll away, so Valik shoved him hard to get him up. It was no longer raining, and in fact it was sunny, which was bad because now it would be harder to hide. However it was still only 06.25, so the Mercenaries might still be fairly inactive. Might.

The sounds of movement on the floor below them made them all freeze. Valik pulled his AKSU out of his bedroll and slowly stood up, the barrel raised towards the stairs. Kolya lifted his G36 to his shoulder while Sergeant Yavoshenko slowly got up and moved around to a different angle with his Groza.

A grenade was thrown up the stairs. Kolya, who was closest, frantically kicked it back down just as it exploded. Some shrapnel still reached them, but the only one hit was Yavoshenko, whose thick bulletproof vest caught it, leaving him unharmed.

His Groza went off once and there was a thump that was unmistakably a body hitting something when it fell. Gunfire came from below and Yavoshenko was knocked backwards as they impacted his chest. A second Mercenary came up the stairs only to have his face blown in by a burst from Valik’s AKSU.

Valik strained his ears. He could hear nothing else coming from below. That did not necessarily mean that it was clear, though.

An M-209 grenade hit the ceiling above the stairs, throwing Valik and Kolya onto their faces. Plaster and chunks of wood rained down on them and Valik thought he would choke from the dust. Pulling the neck of his shirt over his face and wiping his eyes, he was surprised to find that he was not hurt. He didn’t know if he could say the same for Kolya and Sergeant Yavoshenko, though.

Climbing shakily to his feet, he picked up his now filthy assault rifle and raised it to his shoulder—and not a moment too soon. The third merc was coming up the stairs and Valik fired a single round. It punched through the eyepiece of the man’s gas mask, and he tumbled back down the stairs, dead.

Valik waited for about a minute, and when no more attacks commenced he went over to Sergeant Yavoshenko. The Duty stalker groaned and sat up when he was prodded. His armor had protected him well—nothing had gotten through, but he would have a large bruise on his chest now.

“I think we’re going to have to do something else to get through this area,” Valik muttered as he dug Kolya out from a pile of debris.

“No kidding,” Kolya grumbled as he stood up, brushing dust from his fleck-tarn jacket.

Valik changed the magazine in his assault rifle and looked down the stairs. Three blue armored bodies lay there, shot through their heads. Valik noticed that their suits were perfectly intact and got an idea.

“Okay. There’s three of them and three of us. We can take their suits and their guns, and then hopefully no one will bother us and we can just walk through here and find this guy that you’re looking for,” Valik said, looking at Kolya.

Yavoshenko looked like he objected to the idea.

“What’s your problem, man?” Kolya asked, looking at Yavoshenko.

“I feel like I’m betraying my faction by doing this,” he muttered, glancing at the dead mercs.

“It’s only temporary,” Valik assured him.

They shook dust out of their bedrolls, then packed everything in and went down the stairs. It was a chore to wrestle the bodies out of their suits, and Yavoshenko had to stand guard while they did it. It also wasted precious time that Kolya might need to find whoever was stealing info from his faction. Once the mercs had been stripped to their ugly digital camouflage fatigues Valik looked at the sizes on the suits.

“We’ve got a medium-regular, a medium-long and an extra-large- long. On top of this, each Mercenary set comes complete with a balaclava so they won’t even see our faces. So you pay one price of a few magazines and some blood, and we’ll throw in the facemask and the weapons with ammo absolutely free,” Kolya joked.

“Well, that’s great with them not seeing our faces, but what about our voices? They’ll still know we’re not mercs if they hear us talk,” Yavoshenko warned.

“Gas masks?” Valik shrugged.

“Ours don’t look like theirs. We gotta find some merc gas masks.”

“There’s three more of these guys killed by some bloodsuckers a few buildings over,” Kolya said. “I saw them when we were going past the building where the sniper tried to shoot us.”

“What size are you, Vladik?” Valik asked.

“I’m probably that x-large,” Yavoshenko shrugged without turning around.

“Do we want their fatigues, too?” Kolya asked.

“No. Who’s going to strip-search us?” Valik said.

Being the smallest one, he pulled off his green-brown Sunrise suit and slid on the synthetic-fabric medium-regular Mercenary uniform. Though it was a little too warm, other than that it was very comfortable and he was pleased to discover that the armor wrapped all the way around his chest, so it was more protective. He pulled the black balaclava down over his head and began tying the boots.

“Well?” asked Kolya, who was hesitant to change out of his trusty Guardian of Freedom suit.

“It’s comfortable,” Valik said. “A little too well insulated, though. It’d be great if it was still raining.”

He folded in the stock of his AKSU and tucked it into his backpack, then unslung the M-16 from his shoulder and compared it to one of the dead merc’s. It had an M-203 grenade launcher on the bottom rail, which he removed for use with his own weapon. He only had two M-209’s for it, though, so he’d have to save them for a rainy day. Kolya was next. He nervously shed his fleck-tarn suit and dressed himself in the bluish-grey Gore-Tex garb in the medium-long size. He would have to give up his trusty G36 for the less reliable and less accurate M-16, which he was clearly not happy about, but it was a necessary evil.

Sergeant Yavoshenko was last. Despite the fact that it weighted him down with an extra six and a half kilograms and took up valuable space in his pack, he refused to leave his black and red armor behind and stubbornly carried it with him, along with his Groza, which was a bullpup and therefore small enough to fit in his pack without being seen.

Once they were situated, they snuck around to the front of the building and Kolya snatched the gas masks while Valik and Sergeant Yavoshenko stood guard. Valik gagged as he scratched coagulated blood out of the gas mask with his fingers, then pulled the filter out and scrubbed the inside of the rubber facemask thoroughly with vodka to get the stink of death out of it. Screwing the filter back in, he pulled it over his face and tightened the straps to a sufficient length for his head, then put up his hood and tightened the drawstrings so that no part of him was exposed. Sealed inside the waterproof outfit, he felt almost safe from the world for the first time since he’d come to the Zone.

Once all three of them were ready they began moving through Rostok. Yavoshenko quickly discovered, however, that even the extra-large was too small for him.

“My pants are making my underwear ride up my ass,” he complained about two minutes into their travel.

“Just ignore it,” Valik said, knowing it wasn’t helpful but not knowing what else to say.

“I can’t,” the Dutyer grumbled. “I’m serious, it feels like someone’s fucking me.”

“Don’t worry, Yavoshenko. No one in their right mind would want to,” Kolya muttered and Valik couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t make me kill you, anarchist,” Yavoshenko snapped. “That gas mask ain’t gonna protect you if I do.”

“Both of you shut up!” Valik hissed. “We’re in extremely hostile territory right now!”

“HEY!” someone shouted and all three of them whipped around in surprise. Two real Mercenaries were coming towards them.

“Are you talking to us?” Valik asked, silently willing the other two to keep quiet.

“Yeah, you. You’re from Squad Badger. What the hell are you doing in our district?” demanded the second merc.

“Uh… just passing through, really.”

“I should’ve figured. Tell your pecker-headed Squad Leader to keep the asses of his grunts on his own turf,” growled the first merc.

It was all Valik could do not to sigh in relief when the real mercs walked away, muttering to themselves about someone named Karik Badger. He nodded at Kolya and Sergeant Yavoshenko, and they began moving again, but they didn’t relax a hair even though they were able to pass for real Mercenaries.

Even though the uniforms were comfortable, Valik missed his Sunrise suit. He knew that Kolya was probably feeling the same ache for his familiar Freedom uniform.

“Where are we actually going?” he asked Kolya, who had taken point.

“We’re looking for Fedka Wire. He’s supposedly working for someone else higher than him, but even so, he’s the one who most likely sent that sniveling wretch who got shot by Mr. I-like-carrying-lots-of-extra-stuff here.”

“Suck my dick, you dope-smoking- ”

“I told you both to shut up!” Valik practically screamed. “You’re going to make them notice!”

“Wait a minute,” Kolya said.

Valik and Sergeant Yavoshenko stopped walking.

“What?” they asked in unison.

“Those other two idiots back there might know where Fedka Wire is. We could ask them.”

“That’s such a shitty idea,” Yavoshenko snorted.

“What have we got to lose?” Valik shrugged.

“Our lives,” the Dutyer muttered but grudgingly agreed and they walked back to find the two mercs who’d stopped them before.

“Hey! You two!” Valik shouted.

The two Mercenaries turned around. One of them scowled behind his balaclava.

“What the hell are you doing back here? Go to your own district!”

“We’re looking for Fedka Wire!” Valik said.

“Why? What do you want with the boss’ proxy?”

“We need information,” Kolya said carefully.

The taller of the two Mercenaries squinted at them.

“If there’s a message he would have sent someone else to-”

He was interrupted by a tearing sound. Valik turned around and looked to see that the entire seam running up the crotch of Sergeant Yavoshenko’s stolen uniform had split open, apparently because he’d been trying to adjust it. Instead of the regulation digital camouflage that mercs wore under their uniforms, plain black fatigue pants showed through, a trademark of the Duty faction.

The two mercs looked at this, then at each other, then back at Yavoshenko and reached for their assault rifles. Valik and Kolya didn’t give them the chance. They raised their M-16s and each fired half a magazine into the mercs, who were thrown onto their backs, their torsos a gory mess.

“So much for that,” Yavoshenko spat as they ran.

“If you had just left your ass alone, this wouldn’t have happened!” Kolya countered.

Valik didn’t notice them over the shouts of alarm coming from a cluster of factory buildings. He picked up his pace and they slipped into an underpass that was clogged with tucks, shipping containers and general wreckage. Ducking behind a derelict KAMAZ, they crouched stock-still and waited. Valik hoped that the nearby buzz of Electro anomalies would disguise their panting breaths and listened tensely as multiple sets of boots pounded the asphalt nearby. There were shouts of alarm and a roar of gunfire for many moments.

Then, silence, save for a single pair of boots slamming on the pavement as someone ran by in the opposite direction.

Valik raised his head and saw a loner with a scoped AK-47 running by. He almost called out a greeting, then remembered that he wore a Mercenary uniform and would probably be shot at. Once the loner was out of sight and out of earshot, Valik stood up.

The cocking of a pistol stopped him. Slowly he looked over his shoulder and saw that Sergeant Yavoshenko was gripping Kolya by his jacket and pressing him against the wall with one hand and leveling his Fort-12 against the Freedom fighter’s forehead with the other.

“Your stupid idea almost got us killed, and for that you’ll die,” Yavoshenko hissed.

Valik tackled the Dutyer at his waist and slammed him to the ground. The pistol went off and the bullet bit a chunk out of the wall of the underpass, then fell into an Electro anomaly and set it off. Valik got up and planted his boot on Yavoshenko’s chest.

“Listen to me. You need to forget your stupid rivalry until we’re done with this or you’re the one who’s going to end up getting us killed. You said you need to pay off your debt to me, and part of that is dealing with the fact that I need this guy’s help so I can get back at the bastards that shot my buddy.

“Your extra firepower is helpful, but it’s not worth you putting all our asses in danger just because you don’t like this guy. So either cut it out or go back to your part of Rostok. Understand?”

Yavoshenko scowled.

“Whatever. When he gets us into some other shit, don’t blame me.”

Valik nodded and let him up.

“You are a soldier of the Duty faction. Soldiers follow their orders, and this is an order.”

Yavoshenko didn’t say anything. Now that the jig was up, he all but ripped the Mercenary armor from his body and pulled his black PSZ-9d Duty suit back on. Any and all equipment he’d stolen from the dead mercs was dropped, and once again he stood in his jet black and red uniform with his Groza in his arms.

“We going or what?” he demanded.

Valik nodded and crept up the underpass, his gun raised. What he saw was a shock.

About twenty or so mercs lay dead, their bodies strewn about the helicopter that had been brought down last night while Valik, Kolya and Sergeant Yavoshenko had been trying to sneak through Rostok in the rain. How had one stalker killed all these mercs by himself with just a Kalashnikov? He didn’t bother to try and think of an answer. Sensing that it was all clear, he led the other two back out into the sunlight.

“Someone was pissed at the mercs,” Kolya remarked, giving a low whistle.

Valik wondered how he accomplished this with a gas mask on.

“Yeah, well, at this point aren’t you?” Valik said dryly.

“Yeah,” Sergeant Yavoshenko agreed.

The three of them began moving east through Rostok, back towards Duty-held territory.

“Why are we going back?” Valik asked.

“We’re not. Not yet, anyway,” Kolya said. “Can you do me a favor? Start checking the bodies of the mercs. Any IDs, PDAs, flash-sticks, anything, I need to look at it.”

“Sure. Hey, guys, if you see anything about Wolfhound’s group, let me know. I need to find them and beat their asses into the ground,” Valik said before they spread out to start looking.

None of the mercs had any good loot except for one who wore a Flash on his belt. Valik grinned and put it onto his own belt, then continued searching. Once they’d checked all the bodies in the area, Kolya was extremely disappointed but not surprised that none of them had found any data.

A bellowing roar caught their attention. Valik’s head whipped around and his eyes widened.

“BLOODSUCKER!” he screamed.

Valik ran in one direction while Sergeant Yavoshenko and Kolya took off in the other. The bloodsucker made the stupid decision to follow the two of them, so while Yavoshenko sent Groza rounds into its chest Valik’s M-16 spat hell into its back. It did not take long to fell the mutant.

“I hate this!” Yavoshenko shouted. “I hate this place and I hate the things that live here and I hate both of you!”

“Then go back to East Rostok,” Valik snapped. “Go back there to your friends. But I need to do this. I never asked for you to come here with me. You insisted. And if you don’t like that, fine, but if you’re sticking with me then TOUGH SHIT!” he screamed, getting fed up with Yavoshenko.

The Dutyer didn’t say anything and cringed as though struck. Valik sighed inside his gas mask and shook his head at Yavoshenko, then turned to Kolya.

“Now what?” he asked.

Kolya shrugged.

“The scent’s gone cold. I have no new information to track him with. We’ll have to backtrack and see if we can catch him east of here,” Kolya said.

Valik nodded. He turned to Sergeant Yavoshenko, who nodded silently as well, and they moved out without another word. Valik allowed himself to be lost in thought, not something he could often afford to do in the Zone, though he trusted Kolya and Yavoshenko to warn him if something was about to happen.

He thought about Kostik and his stash, and suddenly he stopped dead.

“What is it?” asked Kolya, who also stopped and turned around.

“It’s near here,” he realized, thinking out loud. “Come on!” And he charged off in a different direction.

Weaving his way between buildings, he found it. A set of train tracks blocked by a closed gate. To the left of a couple of flatbeds was a fence, and behind it a stack of pipes surrounded by humming Electro anomalies. Beyond that was a manhole, he knew, though he could not see it. Kostik had described it to him when they’d been on their way here.

“It’s in there,” he said, then he went over and began climbing over the fence.

“What’s in there?” Kolya demanded.

Valik didn’t answer. He landed with a crunch on the dead grass behind the fence, at which point he climbed up the stack of pipes to avoid the anomalies. He grinned when he saw the manhole cover. Climbing carefully so that he wouldn’t fall and hurt himself, he got off the stacked pipes and picked his way through the anomalies until he reached it.

“And now for the moment of truth,” he whispered to himself.

Slinging his gun over his shoulder, he groaned with effort as he pried the manhole cover open. The hole was filled with debris and garbage as well as some dead rats, so he was very thankful that he had not taken off the gas mask. On top of it sat a backpack, and it was very heavy. Valik found out why when he pulled it out and opened it. Crammed into it was a military SKAT suit, Sphere-12 helmet and all. Grinning broadly, he carried it over the fence to the relative safety of the street where Kolya and Sergeant Yavoshenko stood.

“I found it,” he said, stripping off the merc suit. He felt suddenly much cooler when he did because his grey fatigues were damp with sweat. “It was still here. Kostik was right.”

“Found what? What the hell is in that pack?” Yavoshenko demanded.

“Something extremely useful,” Valik said, then pulled it out and began putting it on.

As per usual with most things involving the Ukrainian military, it was one-size-fits-all, adjustable (slightly) with grip-strips and drawstrings. The boots were slightly too large, but that was a minor thing. Now Valik was all but invulnerable. He pulled on the gas mask and then the shock-helmet, which was specially designed to fit over the mask and line up with it so that his vision, breathing and comfort were not obstructed. It was hard to be comfortable in a gas mask, though—it felt like his face was being stretched in all directions at once, especially around his eyes.

“Was this your friend’s stash?” Kolya asked.

“Yes,” Valik nodded, picking up his gun.

“Wow. No wonder he wanted it badly enough to go charging through here and get it,” Yavoshenko remarked.

Valik shrugged.

“Alright, let’s go look for Fedka Wire.”


	4. H&K 417

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimka plots his revenge against the trespassers.

Dimka's breaths sawed loudly in and out of his gas mask as he ran. He’d been in the dark for more than an hour, and he had a sneaking suspicion that something terrible had happened to his Squad. His bad knee and his lungs burned with pain but he needed to keep going. Without any comms he had no idea what part of the district his Squad-mates would be in, so he’d have to look through the whole thing. This thought didn't appeal to him in the slightest, but if his comrades-in-arms were in trouble he’d have to help them out if he could.

He rounded the corner of a building and stopped. The same helicopter that had been brought down last night was in front of him, and littering the paved ground around it were the bodies of many of Squad Wolf and a few of Squad Badger. Something had happened here.

Still breathing hard, he picked his way through the wreckage, some of which was still smoldering, his gun raised in caution. Whatever had butchered the other mercs might still be here, waiting to finish him off. He strained his ears, even though he knew it would do him no good; he had a comm. bead in one ear and his whole head was wrapped in a hood and a gas mask.

“Squad Wolf, report,” he said into his comm. unit.

Nothing but the faint background static that was always there. He sighed and a dismal thought struck him: he might be the last Mercenary alive in West Rostok. If this was true, he’d have to journey across the dangerous wooded area of Wild Territory. There were no concrete trails and meeting up with one of the Squads in the Yanov area took at least two days’ hike for someone who wasn’t crippled like he was. Assuming he didn’t get lost in the attempt, he might die in an anomaly or be mauled by a mutant.

Even worse, if he found himself in a thorn patch even the smallest of cuts could make him die horribly from an infection. Any number of awful things could happen to him out there; it would be better for him to just eat his gun if that were the case. Grimacing behind his gas mask, he began wandering east towards the far end of Squad Wolf’s district in the hopes of finding another merc, any other merc; even one of the annoying ones from Squad Badger would be a welcome sight. He really wasn’t picky.

“Any member of any Squad, if you hear this transmission, say something,” he said desperately.

[ _Volodya Talon, Squad Jackal. Who is this?_ ]

“Dimka Boot, Squad Wolf. At least ten of my Squad have been slaughtered. What’s your status?”

[ _All my Squad are dead but me. Fedka Wire is with me, but he’s not conscious_ _because he’s injured. Where are you?_ ]

“Close to the construction site. Where are you?”

[ _At the easternmost edge of your district by the radioactive house. We’re holed up in a train car to keep away from the bloodsucker and I’m low on ammo._ ]

Dimka normally would have groaned, but he was so happy that he didn’t have to trek across hostile territory that he grinned at the implied assignment here. Scavenging some extra ammunition off of the bodies of his dead comrades, he started moving towards where Volodya Talon and Fedka Wire were hiding from a bloodsucker. It took ten minutes to reach the train platform because he’d had to weave his way through the factory to avoid being seen. If whatever had slaughtered the members of his squad was still present, he didn’t want to run into it. He could see the railcar, but where was the bloodsucker…?

A roar answered his question. All of a sudden his gun had been knocked out of his hands and four great tears slashed the Kevlar on his torso. Panicking, Dimka scrambled backwards away from the bloodsucker and reached for the Makarov pistol strapped to the holster on his leg.

Suddenly, with an explosion that was practically in his face, Dimka was thrown backwards and pain lanced his right bicep. He landed hard on his back, and he felt one of the plastic bottles of mineral water in his pack become crushed from the impact. The contents of his backpack and web-gear were instantly soaked, but that was the least of his worries. A boot was planted on his chest and an M-16 with a grenade launcher mounted under the barrel was shoved in his face.

“You’re not in a good spot right now, merc. Your friends are dead and no one's coming to save you. We’re looking for someone, and you might be able to help us, unless you’d like to have your brains blown out.”

“Okay! Okay! What do you want?” Dimka sputtered desperately.

He was looking up into the expressionless facemask of a military Sphere-12 helmet, and he immediately thought that the Ukrainian army had sent in Spetsnaz to re-try their hand at taking Wild Territory.

“We’re looking for Fedka Wire.”

Dimka thought fast.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of him. But there are reinforcements on the way. Twenty more mercs are just minutes from here. So you’d better run, Spetsnaz. Or _you_ won’t live.”

The man in the SKAT suit didn’t do anything for a minute, then looked over his shoulder and began shouting something. It was all Dimka needed. Mustering all his strength and forcing himself to ignore the burning pain in his arm, he tore himself out from under the other man’s foot and threw his would-be captor onto his face on the ground.

Knowing he couldn’t stand against a squad of Spetsnaz, Dimka ran like he’d never run before into a maze of factory buildings. He quickly wove and ducked his way through cover, drawing on every trick he’d learned in his training to try and lose whoever might be trailing him. After what seemed like hours (but was probably only a few minutes) of intense terror, Dimka was ready to collapse. His adrenaline seeping from his blood, he dragged himself into one of the more destroyed-looking buildings that actually served as an armory and sat down after barricading the door behind him.

Pulling off his hood and gas mask and ripping the comm. bead out of his ear, he held his breath for many moments and listened. There was silence. His breath burst from his chest in rough pants, and for a long time he sat like that. Once his breathing returned to normal and the pain in his lungs subsided, he re-discovered his arm injury and tended to it. A small chunk of shrapnel had found him there, and he dressed it carefully before assessing his situation.

The Ukrainian Spetsnaz Corps was invading West Rostok. _This is just perfect_ , he thought to himself. It definitely explained why he’d found so many of his fellows dead. However, they hadn’t killed him… which meant that he could get killed crossing the forested area of Wild Territory on his way to Yanov instead.

Groaning at these thoughts, he pulled his damaged suit from his body and rummaged the shelves until he found a new one in his size. He’d need a lot of firepower if he was going to make it to Yanov alive, especially if Spetsnaz were involved. In any case, he’d need something a lot better than an M-16 and a gas mask if he was going to get through the Rostok factory. Dimka began wandering the shelves, making a note of what weapons would work the best for him. That H&K sniper rifle certainly looked friendly, he decided, picking it up and running his gloved fingers over it.

Looking up from the gun, his eyes widened in awe when he saw it on the shelf in front of him, the pinnacle of all combat suits. Few factions could afford to field them in large quantities, but the mercs had had a supply of them from the beginning.

An exoskeleton.

Sighing with relief that he’d found worthwhile armor, he stripped off his blue standard-issue combat suit and began clamping and strapping himself into the thick Kevlar armor. Pulling the shock helmet with the integrated gas mask over his head, he clacked the metal support frames into place and hooked up the servomotors to the lithium battery that was attached to his belt.

Dimka slung his sniper rifle and his M-16 both over his back, then filled his web-gear with ammunition for both. He took the contents of his old backpack and was able to fit them as well, and lastly he strapped his pistol to his leg. Dimka felt invincible as he left the interior of the armory and climbed onto the roof of the building. Few weapons could shoot through an exoskeleton; even NATO armor-piercing rounds hardly made a dent.

Peering through the scope of his new sniper rifle, he looked back at the train platform and saw that it was a single Spetsnaz, a man in a Mercenary uniform who was clearly not a real merc and a Duty soldier. Immediately, Dimka knew it was the same Duty soldier who’d shot at him before. But the Spetsnaz had been the one who’d actually come close to killing him, so he deserved to die first.

Gripping his rifle carefully, he rested his finger on the trigger gently and brought the Spetsnaz’ head into the crosshairs of his scope.


	5. Spetsnaz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vladik gets injured by Dimka, forcing them to reassess their tactics against the merc.

Valik was about to ask Kolya something when there was a distant crack from some sort of firearm and something exploded in his face. Startled and momentarily blinded because the lenses of his gas mask had been all but shattered, he fell onto his back and dropped his M-16. Through his helmet the sound of boots pounding reached his ears.

“This is ironic,” he heard Sergeant Yavoshenko mutter, then he was hoisted onto the man’s shoulders and carried off.

Valik regained himself after a moment. When he was set down he pulled off his helmet and ruined gas mask, inspecting the damage with a growing feeling of annoyance. The filter had been destroyed; most of it had been ripped off. Even worse, chunks of metal that had once made the filter had hit the glass lenses. Now they were cracked and it wasn’t just a simple filter-swap.

“Dammit!” Valik shouted. “There is no way in hell I’ll ever be able to get a new gas mask for this thing!”

“SHHH!” Kolya hissed, looking around as though some enemy might be close enough to hear. “You almost got your skull blown apart by some sniper! It’s amazing it was only the gas mask!”

Until this moment, Valik hadn’t even realized he’d been a hair away from getting killed. He was silent for a long time.

“Okay. Someone really wants us dead if they’re willing to risk shooting at a Spetsnaz, and I’m willing to bet all my dope that it’s that same asshole who got away from us in the first place,” Kolya said after a while.

“For once, the anarchist is right. You saw that helicopter and all them bodies. There’s no fucking way the mercs are getting reinforcements. There weren’t hardly any of them to start with,” Yavoshenko said.

It was then that Valik noticed them both staring.

“Okay. Why are you looking at me like that?” Valik asked.

“What do you think we should do about it?” Kolya said.

“I don’t know, this is your mission, I’m just here to kill Wolfhound. What are you asking me?”

“I’m no closer to finding Fedka Wire than I was yesterday. Do you think it’s a good idea to hold up for a day or two? I mean, that merc almost killed you.”

Valik thought about this for a moment. On the one hand, any delay might make Fedka Wire’s trail go completely cold, and he did want to help Kolya find him. On the other, he also desperately craved his revenge. At last he looked at Sergeant Yavoshenko.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Uh… shit, you’re asking me? Well, if he kills us, we can’t actually get too far, so…”

“Alright, then we’ll go after him,” Valik decided. “Speaking of mercs, what should we do with the one in the railroad car?”

“Leave him to fucking die, he ain’t worth a bullet,” Yavoshenko said. “We don’t got time to be nice to dying enemies.”

This seemed a poor justification to Valik, but as much as he hated to admit it the Duty sergeant was right—they didn’t have time to waste.

“Alright. Let’s go. Where did the shot come from?” he asked, picking one last chunk of the filter out of his helmet before he put it back onto his head.

“The construction site,” Kolya said. “My bet’s an H&;K 417, from the noise and the accuracy. He probably only missed because you moved your head slightly without thinking about it.”

They got to their feet and began sneaking behind buildings, moving gradually in the direction of the construction site. Valik suddenly realized how exposed he felt without his gas mask. It had completed his suit, and without it his lungs were vulnerable, at the mercy of the Zone.

 

*

 

Sergeant Vladislav Yavoshenko instinctively took up the rear, drawing on his training and experience to keep himself quiet while being attentive to the area around him. Kolya Truck and Valik Pin, however, were not so careful. They were looking around constantly, but weren’t stepping quietly. He wondered if it was because they didn’t know how or didn’t care or both.

All of his instincts screamed at him that the Freedom stalker would get him killed, but Vladislav had a debt to Valik. Until it was paid off, he would have to put up with it. Admittedly, the anarchist wasn’t nearly as bad of a leader as he had first expected. That didn’t mean that Vladislav liked working and fighting under him, though. Even so, his past training forced him to obey this makeshift chain of command, even if it wasn’t very steady. Sometimes Kolya was in charge, other times Valik led. It wasn’t something he was used to and he didn’t like it, but he knew he had to deal with it. At least, he would until he was either killed by one of Kolya’s screw- ups or his debt was paid off.

After a good half-hour of picking their way through abandoned buildings and avoiding the open area in front of the construction site, they were close enough and in a good enough position to assail it. Vladislav gripped his Groza tighter, then pulled out the magazine and loaded in 20 armor-piercing sniper rounds. Grinning to himself behind the black scarf that covered the lower half of his face and nose, he peered out from behind the building cautiously for a moment and sized up the construction site. He only risked this for about two seconds, and when he didn’t see any sign of the merc he ducked back around the corner.

“Okay. I didn’t see him but there’s only one way to the upper floors of it,” he whispered. “But if he got one of them big-ass sniper rifles like the anarchist thinks he is, he’ll be really dangerous. We all gotta run it from different angles and meet under the second floor near the stairs. Anarchist, you’re wearing the lightest-weight armor. You gotta to run right at the front because Valik and I are too slow. Valik, you take the right side of the building with the big crane next to it; it’ll be a short run. I’ll go to the left side by the underpass and once you got my signal, run. I’ll draw his attention if he’s there. Then, if I see him, I’ll take care of him right there. If I don’t, I’ll start running for the stairs. Both of you should be there by then, and the wall will keep him from escaping out the back. So if he starts coming down the stairs, blow him away. _Ti panimayetsya?_ ” he asked.

Both of them nodded.

“Okay, get to where it’s the shortest run towards the building. Once I’m in position and you get the signal, go as fast as you possibly can. Once you’re at the bottom, be ready to shoot.”

This said, Vladislav went in a circle around the back of the half-finished building and prepared himself. Taking a deep breath, he worked his way through cover to the left side of the building, then reached into his webbing with his right hand. He’d gotten an F-1 frag grenade off of a dead merc by the crashed helicopter. Here was the perfect excuse to use it. Swallowing, he slung his Groza over his shoulder and pulled the pin from the grenade, then heaved it with all his might at the window.

He let out his breath and thanked God in his mind that his aim hadn’t been off and it sailed through. He frantically shouldered his weapon about a second before the grenade exploded, deafening him for a moment. Glaring down the iron sight, Vladislav watched the roof carefully. But nothing appeared. His heartbeat sped up as he moved for the stairs. He strained his ears, listening for footsteps, but heard nothing. But something felt wrong to him. He knew what it was as soon as it happened.

After the explosion, Vladislav heard nothing but ringing. He was thrown backwards into a stack of concrete slabs, shrapnel slicing a gash into his unprotected forehead. Blood gushed from his ears and nose from the concussion of the blast, and shards of metal had cut into his left calf. It was a miracle that he was still alive at all, but he would only realize this later.

Sticky blood coated his face like a mask, drying against his skin and mixed with dirt and tiny stones that had been thrown up from the ground. Pain wracked his body, and for more than a minute he just sat there, disoriented and unarmed because he’d dropped his Groza.

 _I’m dead_ , he thought. _Oh, God, I’m dead. This is Hell_.

It took him a moment after he thought this to realize that through the pain he could feel himself breathing. So, he wasn’t dead yet… but he was probably about to be. He didn’t want to die, and everything screamed at him to get up and save himself. But he was in too much pain to move.

Something nudged him hard in the side, causing more pain to explode in his chest. He couldn’t even whimper and he collapsed sideways, hardly able to breathe. Then he was kicked hard in the gut, but he didn’t respond to this either. He was still too unhinged by the pain to recognize what was happening or do anything about it.

“Hm,” muttered his invisible tormentor, then the sounds of boot steps reached his ears, steadily getting further away.

After many moments he began to regain himself a little and he realized his eyes had closed against his will. Breathing unevenly because of the pain, he opened them and bright light invaded his consciousness. Vladislav tried to lift his head, but that was too painful. Closing his eyes again, he was about to give up and die when more sounds of approaching feet came, these more rapid and more numerous than the last.

“Oh, shit,” someone breathed.

Sluggishly his brain recognized the voice of Kolya Truck. The Freedom stalker. Not really knowing he was doing it, he drew another breath.

“Fuck off, anarchist,” he groaned. “I’m already in Hell.”

“I guess he’s okay, then,” said the other stalker.

Valik Pin. Vladislav slowly remembered that he owed this man his life. Probably, that debt was about to get even deeper—Valik was definitely standing over him, assessing his injuries. Vladislav groaned in pain when he was pulled away from whatever he’d been leaning on before. Now, he was lying flat on his back instead of crumpled.

“Wow, man. You took a grenade launcher to the chest and lived,” Kolya said.

“It sure fucking feels like it,” Vladislav grunted, regaining himself more quickly now. “Where’s the bastard? I’m gonna strangle him.”

“We heard a grenade go off but when we started running we saw him blast you with his grenade launcher. He was wearing an exoskeleton and we knew we couldn’t take him, so we took cover until he’d gone. We were lucky, I guess. He didn’t see us,” Valik explained.

“Dammit… an exoskeleton?”

“Yeah. And none of us has AP rounds,” Kolya muttered.

“Not true,” Vladislav said. “I got Vintorez rounds in my Groza.”

He tried to sit up but collapsed back onto the ground in pain again.

“I think your ribs are broken,” Valik commented, changing the subject. “You’re really lucky that’s the worst injury you have. Kolya, hold down his shoulders, but be careful of the right one because it’ll still be sore for him. I need to take the shrapnel out of his leg.”

Hands pressed down on Vladislav’s shoulders and the leg of his pants was pushed up to his knee. He growled and ground his teeth as Valik started skillfully picking the shards of metal out of his flesh. After a few minutes vodka was poured onto the wounds, and Vladislav groaned at the burning sensation from the alcohol.

“Sorry. It’s all I have and you need to keep it from getting infected,” Valik apologized.

“How’d you get so good at this?” Kolya asked as Valik bandaged Vladislav’s leg.

“I used to be a combat medic for the Spetsnaz,” he said.

“You serious?” Vladislav asked. “You should join Duty. We need people like you.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” Valik declined. “I have a tail and I’ve had my share of ant-like conformity.”

“That’s insulting,” Vladislav said bluntly.

“I didn’t mean it to be. I’d just rather be a loner. I love artifacts too much to be part of your faction anyway.”

He tied off the bandage, then Vladislav felt him wrap duct tape around his pant leg.

“What’s that for?” Kolya asked.

“It’ll keep dirt out of the bandage so it can’t get into the wound. You can let go of him now.”

Vladislav tried and once again failed to sit up and see what was going on. He reached up with one hand and scratched some blood off his face, managing to raise his head so that he could see Valik. The loner was wiping blood from his hands off onto his dark green combat suit. Once they were almost clean he pulled out another bandage.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“Your ribs. I need you to take off your bulletproof vest, your jacket and your fatigue shirt.”

With some difficulty because it still hurt to move for the most part, Vladislav pulled open the grip-strips that held on his Kevlar vest. As he unzipped the jacket that was supposed to protect him from radiation, he realized it was no good—it was in tatters from the grenade. He was able to work his arms out of the sleeves somehow, and he grudgingly accepted help from Kolya in getting his black fatigue shirt and his short-sleeved white undershirt off. The dead grass prickled against his back once his clothes were out from under him, and Valik frowned.

“Hmm…”

“What?” Vladislav asked.

“I need you to sit up.”

“I can’t sit up,” he said.

“I know that. That’s what’s so problematic here.”

What eventually ensued, following several painful failures, was Kolya holding him in a sitting position. He held his breath and tried not to scream as Valik bound his ribs. Vladislav sighed in relief when it was at last over, then pulled his fatigue shirt back on. There was no point in wearing the jacket, but his vest might still stop pistol bullets, so he wore that too.

“We can’t just sit here in the open all night,” Valik said. “You won’t be fit for travel until tomorrow, so we’ll have to find a place to set up. Kolya, look for something close by without too many holes in the roof. If you see anything, shout.”

Vladislav grinned.

“You definitely were a Spetsnaz,” he agreed, scratching more blood from his face to make it stop itching.

“I know. I try not to think about it,” Valik muttered, pulling his AKSU from his shoulder and looking around, swinging the barrel lazily in front of him.

“I was regular army,” Vladislav said conversationally. “They were gonna send me to the garrison in Kyiv but something happened. I got stationed in an outpost at the edge of the Zone.”

“And you came here?”

“Not at first, but the rest is secret,” Vladislav admitted. “Eventually, yeah. I came here. The real badass officers and sergeants get posted in Yanov. I was good enough but they asked if I wanted to and I said no. I like being stationed in Rostok better.”

“Why?” Valik asked.

“Because it would’ve been a demotion. I would’ve been part of a squad again and I like being a sergeant. I didn’t want that, and Rostok is also easier to fight off mutants in.”

Valik turned away from his iron sights and looked over his shoulder at Vladislav. “They ask you where you want to be stationed?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Wow. That’s way cushier than the Spetsnaz corps.”

Vladislav chuckled at that. They sat in silence for about a minute before Kolya returned.

“I found a good spot,” he said, glancing down at Vladislav. “It has a roof and everything.”

“Upper floors?” Valik asked.

“Yep. Unfortunately they can only be accessed by a ladder, so it’ll be difficult getting him up. But that just means no bloodsuckers can get us while we’re sleeping,” Kolya said, and Vladislav got the idea he was grinning behind his stolen black gas mask.

“Alright. You’ll have to cover all three of us, Kolya. Unless you want to carry him.”

The Freedom stalker shook his head and Vladislav was picked up onto Valik’s shoulders.

“You either need to lose a lot of weight or stop getting injured,” the loner groaned as he carried him.

Vladislav rolled his eyes. It wasn’t exactly comfortable for him, either; it was bumpy and making his broken ribs even more sore. He ground his teeth until he thought his molars were about to crack.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Valik muttered when they were at the ladder.

“I have an idea,” Kolya said.

“Oh fuck, not again,” Vladislav complained. “No ideas from you.”

“Go ahead, Kolya,” Valik countered.

“I’ll climb up a little bit first. You hold onto him with one hand and grab the back of my belt with the other. That way you won’t have to try and climb up by yourself with one hand.”

“Are you sure you’re strong enough to pull me and him and all his gear?” Valik asked.

“It’s your best bet, unless he wants to climb himself on a bad leg and a bad shoulder.”

Vladislav began praying silently in his head as Kolya’s plan was initiated. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he wasn’t being carried as Valik began climbing slowly up the rungs of the ladder. It was a nerve-wracking sensation and Vladislav knew he’d fall at any second. He'd always been afraid of heights, and taking this long, it must have been a very tall ladder. After many more drawn-out and terrifying moments, Vladislav was at last set down on the floor, and he sighed with relief and opened his eyes.

Looking down the gap in the floor, he almost expected to see clouds, but to his surprise the ladder was less than four meters long. He rolled onto his back and sat up, but stayed silent because he knew he’d never have heard the end of it if he’d said anything.

“We’ll go back to East Rostok tomorrow,” Valik said. “I don’t know how Kolya and I will get in dressed like this, though.”

“It’s ok I guess,” Vladislav said. “I can get you through. I don’t know about pot-head here, though,” he added, jerking his thumb in Kolya’s direction.

The Freedom stalker slapped the inside of his bent elbow. Valik rolled his eyes.

“Will you two lay off for a second?” he groaned. “You’re like little kids! Vladik, Kolya probably just helped save all our asses because if we’re on the ground at night we’re bloodsucker food. Kolya, don’t encourage him. I don’t want whatever’s coming this way hear your bickering and come looking for us.”

Vladislav grimaced, but he knew that Valik was right.

“I’ll take first watch,” Kolya said.

“Fine with me,” Valik shrugged, reaching into his pack and pulling out a plastic cup of dry noodles.

Along with this he took out a picked-clean can that had once contained stew meat and a small burner that had a canister of propane. It was a similar model to something that someone would carry while hiking.

“Alright, Valik. Tell me you weren’t a Spetsnaz here.”

“I was a Spetsnaz here,” Valik shrugged. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”

They sat in silence for many minutes. Once the water started to steam, Valik turned off the burner and poured the noodles and the seasoning into the can, then broke them up with his hunting knife.

“Smart,” Vladislav said, nodding.

“I’ve been here for months,” Valik said. “I’ve learned a thing or two. Actually I got this from Kostik. He’d been here for a couple of years when I met him, and he knew a lot of things. It’s a shame I couldn’t learn them all. Now I’ll never know.”

“You really miss your friend,” Vladislav commented, only really grasping this as he said it. “How’d you meet him?”

“I was about to be eaten by a zombie,” Valik said, smiling a little at the memory. “The bastard had been chasing me for days. I was so weighted down with shit I was carrying to sell to that crook Sidorovich that I couldn’t run. He must’ve been able to smell me or something, because I climbed a ladder and slept in the attic of a hut for a night. When I woke up he was still down there. So I climbed out a gap in the roof and jumped down. That was a stupid move, because I sprained my foot, so running was even less of an option. I was about to give up and die but Kostik happened along right then tracking a flesh he’d wounded. He was trying to hunt it down so he could salt the fat and sell it. He saved my ass and helped me back to the rookie village. We stuck together ever since.”

Valik stuck his knife into the can and lifted some noodles into his mouth. He passed the can to Vladislav, who was surprised that the stalker was sharing his food. Swallowing a mouthful and passing the can back, he asked “How long did you travel with him?”

“Three months, I think,” Valik answered, taking another bite. “He had a nose for loot. But he actually was called Kostik Ear for a lack thereof. He was deaf on his left side.”

“And he’d been in the Zone for how long?” Vladislav asked, surprised.

“Two years and change. He had a very nice gun, a Vintorez. Before he slept he would always clean out and re-oil it, even if he hadn’t fired it at all that day. Once it was reassembled he’d pack it into this plastic bag that he carried around in his pack. I always teased him about it. He wore a SEVA suit, actually. But he never wore the life-support pack or the helmet. He just had on a sweatshirt under it, and he’d pull the hood over his head and tie his scarf over his face, even if it was thirty degrees. He was definitely a strange man.”

“Most of us here are,” Vladislav agreed.

The look on Valik’s face indicated he didn’t want to continue the subject, so they stayed silent for the rest of the time as they finished off the noodles. Once they were gone Valik put the can to his mouth to drink the broth and washed it down with a double-shot. It was about 19.00 hours, so there was still some light, but the painkillers Vladislav had taken were making him drowsy. He took off his grey combat boots and crawled into his bedroll, and though the hard floor was not really conducive to sleeping he soon drifted off.


	6. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimka settles in to ambush the trespassers.

Dimka moved through the dark shadows cast by the buildings as he crept back towards the train car. With the Duty stalker taken care of, he would only have to worry about the Spetsnaz and his friend in the stolen merc suit. He smiled behind his gas mask.

Twilight had fallen upon the Rostok Factory. At 19.30 hours, there was still just enough light to see without night-vision devices, but the sun had gone down and the shadows were thick and black.

The train car was in sight. Dimka looked around cautiously for bloodsuckers before moving towards it, even though he knew he wouldn’t have been able to see them anyway if they had been there. Luckily there weren’t any at that moment, and he made it to the train platform unmolested. Dimka stepped across a box that stuck out from under the ledge of the concrete and climbed into the train car. Volodya Talon’s corpse was in one corner, a pool of gore and dried blood under his ruptured skull. Fedka Wire was also dead, apparently having bled to death from his wounds. Dimka grimaced inside his helmet.

Trying not to think about it too much, because these were his former comrades-in- arms, he rummaged them for anything useful. Being a Mercenary, his equipment was usually supplied to him; he wasn’t used to looking through the pockets of dead bodies for equipment. That was something loners did to survive, not him. But he knew this would probably be his only chance to resupply for a while, assuming he survived. The armory was no longer an option because he’d barred the door from the inside and climbed out a window in the back to avoid being seen.

Knowing that it probably contained sensitive information, even if it was encrypted, Dimka blanked Fedka Wire’s PDA and then smashed it just to be sure. The Squads in Yanov wouldn’t thank him if their positions were revealed to the enemy.

He exited the train car and began heading back in the direction of the construction site. He hadn’t stuck around to loot the corpse of the Duty warrior in case the Spetsnaz soldier was still around, but they’d probably be long gone by now.

Twilight had faded into darkness when he reached it, so he was relying on his headlamp because his night vision was so terrible. Looking around, he noticed that the only thing left of the dead Duty stalker was his OTs-Groza and some blood. His body was gone, and there were wrappers for bandages and medical supplies scattered across the ground. Dimka wanted to kick himself for not checking more thoroughly that the Duty member was dead.

He was obviously still alive somewhere. If his friends were able to make him well enough again, he’d come back with a vengeance and even heavier weapons to try and take down whoever had tried to kill him; at least, this had been Dimka’s previous experience with soldiers of the Duty faction.

Unless, of course, Dimka could find and kill him first.

Knowing that the Duty stalker had caught an M-209, he would be badly injured. So badly injured that it would be stupid to try and make him move very far, especially with night falling. This meant there were two options: hide in one of the buildings nearby, or try and get through to Yantar. Considering that chimeras and zombies alone ran rampant across the underpass that led to the lake, that left the second option highly unlikely. So the enemies must be nearby.

Dimka climbed to the top of the unfinished building and slowly scanned the area through his scope. He didn’t really expect to see anything, so he was unsurprised when he didn’t. It had been a vain hope that they’d be stupid enough to give away their position by building a fire. Even so, he could not move from here because they might still be moving and he’d never find them. He did know that the highest possibility was that they were in one of the surrounding buildings, so he could safely sit here and wait for them with his sniper rifle.

This went against typical Mercenary combat doctrine (a merc was supposed to hunt down his enemy like a dog), but these were unusual circumstances. He felt comfortable ignoring it this time. Reaching into his web gear, he pulled out an energy drink and prepared to wait out the night.


	7. Bullets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valik goes after Dimka.

Valik was prodded awake by Kolya the next morning. They’d split the shift into three parts—Kolya took two and Valik took the middle one because Kolya wasn’t strong enough to carry Sergeant Yavoshenko.

“Get up, stalker. We need to go,” Kolya hissed.

“Mph. What?” Valik grunted, not really awake.

“Shhhh! I think we’re being stalked!” Kolya whispered, fear in his voice.

“By what?” Valik whispered back, immediately roused.

“I think the exo-merc is back. I can see something on the unfinished building’s roof and it doesn’t look friendly to me.”

Valik sat up and began hurriedly pulling on his boots. Fastening the clamp for his helmet strap, he cautiously raised his head to look out the window. The dim sun of 06.11 hours was beginning to light the tops of the buildings, and Valik could definitely see something big and threatening at the construction site. He ducked back down and crawled to his bedroll on his belly.

“How the hell are we going to get out of here now? The only exit is facing that direction,” Valik said.

Kolya just shook his head to say he didn’t know before strapping on his stolen gas mask and pulling up his hood, not that these things would do much good against a sniper bullet.

Valik pulled on his gloves before grabbing the back of Sergeant Yavoshenko’s head with one hand and clamping the other firmly over the Duty warrior’s mouth.

“MPH!” Yavoshenko tried to shout in alarm.

“Shhhh,” Valik hissed. “The merc is back.”

He let go. Sergeant Yavoshenko sat up and then winced with pain. He instinctively reached for his Groza, which was no longer with him; it’d been left

behind at the construction site. It was then Valik realized with alarm that Yavoshenko was the only one with armor-piercing bullets and the gun that fit them was not available at the moment. Fighting panic, he pulled out his binoculars and risked another glance at the construction site. It was without a doubt the same Mercenary, and as far as it was possible because he wore a full helmet and gas mask, he looked very angry. On top of this he held a large sniper rifle that looked like it could rip someone’s arm off at the shoulder.

“Is it him?” Yavoshenko asked quietly, his voice unusually tense.

“Yeah, definitely, and he looks really pissed.”

“Well, you have AP bullets, don’t you?” Kolya asked, looking at Yavoshenko.

The Duty stalker gave Kolya a dirty look.

“Sure, I got plenty. But the gun that can use ’em ain’t here. If it still works at all it’s over at the fucking construction site, under the feet of the bastard who made me drop it in the first place.”

“One of us will have to go get it. Kolya, your M-16 has a scope. How good of a shot are you?” Valik asked

“Uh… I’m okay, I guess. Why?” the Freedom member replied uncertainly.

“I need you to cover me. Keep looking out that window, and if he starts shooting at me, you shoot at him. I know that regular five-fifty- six’s aren’t going to do shit against that armor but it’ll distract him and buy me time. Be careful though. He could take your head off with that thing.”

“Don’t be stupid, Valik. You’ll get yourself killed,” Kolya protested. “And then where will I be? Stuck here with this idiot.” He jerked his thumb at Yavoshenko, who growled.

“Thanks for the concern. But I still stand a better chance than you. My suit’s more protective.”

Not waiting for further debate, Valik checked his M-16 and began climbing down the ladder. Praying to a god he’d never believed in that the Groza was functional and was loaded with Vintorez rounds, Valik realized that he should have gotten a couple of extra magazines from Yavoshenko. But now it was too late to go back because he was exposed. He darted into the cover of a building and hoped desperately that the merc hadn’t seen him.

Swallowing hard, he broke cover and ran in a wild zigzag pattern towards the unfinished building. A periodic booming roar echoed throughout the morning air and the ground exploded around him as the merc fired, trying and failing to hit him. Only a few meters more to go, and he’d be relatively safe for a few seconds.

Suddenly Valik fell sideways, landing hard on his head and shoulder. Growling in frustration and breathing hard, he leapt to his feet with speed only adrenaline could give and began running again. The nylon strap of his helmet cut into the stubble-covered underside of his chin and his web belt squeezed his waist.

Valik ducked under the building and looked around, not really stopping. He turned on his toes and lunged for the dull grey assault rifle, which lay on the ground, tossed unceremoniously aside by its owner. Scooping it up, Valik dropped his own gun and shouldered it—and not a moment too soon. The exoskeleton-clad Mercenary came, his metal-encased feet slamming heavily against the concrete stairs.

Roaring angrily at all the frustration and difficulty this man had caused them, Valik did not spare anything and emptied the entire magazine into the merc’s side. Breathing hard, he squeezed the trigger again and again but all that came out was a faint click that indicated an empty chamber. But he didn't need more bullets, because the Mercenary gave a burbling whine that almost made Valik pity him for a second as he dropped to his knees and then collapsed sideways, falling off the stairs.

Dropping the Groza and picking his M-16 back up, Valik went over and rolled him onto his back with his foot. Ripping off both of their helmets, he pointed his gun at the face of the merc.

“I knew it was you again,” he spat. “I hope you’re in as much pain as you look like you’re in.”

The merc began to pant unevenly, blood trickling from his mouth and nose. Valik watched coldly as the lights behind his eyes died, and one last sigh escaped his open mouth.

Spitting and giving the corpse one last kick, Valik set his helmet back onto his head and started towards where his companions were. He could feel his adrenaline beginning to ebb, and deep exhaustion from its absence would set into his body soon.

A sudden stabbing agony in his right side made him stop.

Dropping his gun and groaning, he practically doubled over, holding his gut in his arms. Lifting his left hand, he saw his glove soaked in blood, and when he looked he saw it gushing from a hole in his suit. Panic, terror and pain took hold of him and he fell to his knees, pressing his hand hard on the wound. Some part of him knew he needed to stop the bleeding, but this was a distant thought.

“No… no…”

He began whimpering and hot tears stung his eyes. His throat choked and he flopped down hard onto his uninjured side, panting roughly and inconsistently. His heartbeat sped up as he began sobbing.

“No… I don’t want to die… Mama… help me… I don’t want to die…”

Valik began to cough. He sputtered a little bit more, then coughed again, and he felt like his helmet was choking him. More tears washed down his face, and he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. His blood was soaking through his clothes now, dripping down his back and making the waistband of his underwear damp.

Something reached his ears, a noise not made by him. Even though he was bound by his pain, his terror still grew—he knew it was a bloodsucker. He could hear it walking closer, and he knew that it was all over for him. Except it wasn’t a bloodsucker. Valik was rolled over painfully, and Kolya pulled his helmet off his head.

“Oh, shit, Valik, how’d you get him if he got you? I saw you go down but I thought you tripped…”

“No,” Valik said, regaining himself for a moment. “No… a pin… a pin in an anomaly…”

Kolya shook his head.

“We’ll worry about anomalies later. Here, grab onto me. I can’t carry Yavoshenko, but maybe I can haul you.”

Valik gripped Kolya’s jacket and was pulled almost to his feet. He turned his head and wiped his face, smearing blood over his cheeks. His eyes landed on Yavoshenko’s gun.

“The Groza… we need it…” he said, then interrupted himself with a cough.

Kolya carefully set Valik back down on the ground, then slung his M-16, Valik’s M-16 and Yavoshenko’s Groza all over his shoulder and lifted Valik up

again.

Without Kolya’s help, Valik would never have been able to struggle back, but they made it back to the building they’d slept in and Kolya hauled Valik up the ladder. The guns were all tossed aside and Valik was spread out on the dirty floor, still bleeding and starting to go into shock.

“Okay. Valik, look at me,” Kolya said forcefully, pulling off his gas mask. “We can help you, but you need to help us. What do we do?”

Valik struggled to think about this.

“Painkillers,” he eventually gasped.

“Okay. Do you have some?”

“Blue box… in my pack,” he nodded.

“Okay. Hey, help me. Find the blue box,” Kolya demanded, looking at Yavoshenko.

It took them several minutes to locate it and to find the right painkillers. Valik flinched slightly as a hypodermic needle was stabbed into a vein on the underside of his wrist, then some of the agony cleared away and he had a slightly easier time thinking straight.

“Kolya… get me out of my suit… look at the wound.”

The Freedom stalker struggled him out of his SKAT suit. Valik’s sweatshirt was pulled off too, and his undershirt. He felt cold because he was used to being bundled inside of the thick synthetic fabric and Kevlar.

“Okay, I can see it. Now what?”

“Take your gloves off,” Valik said, coughing and choking on more tears. “Pour vodka on your hands… and on the wound. Have… have Vladik hold down my shoulders, and you hold down my legs, too.”

Valik did everything he could to brace himself but he still howled like a little girl when the alcohol was poured into the bullet hole. Kolya flinched at the noise and his hands shook.

“Okay. Tell me what next,” Kolya stammered, clearly unprepared for the task.

“You’re… about to hurt me… a lot,” Valik warned him. “I need you… to hold open the hole… with your fingers. If you see… any bullet fragments… pull them out. There should… should be… tweezers… in the box.”

Kolya made a sickened face but nodded. Valik held his breath but when Kolya started it burst from his chest in a scream. His eyes squeezed shut on their own, but tears still leaked from them. Valik breathed in again too quickly and some saliva went down the wrong way, so his next wail was interrupted by more coughing and punctuated with sobs. It seemed to last an eternity, and he wished he could just die right there so that it would end.

Kolya stopped. Valik’s tensed muscles began to relax slightly, and he was able to draw a full breath.

“Valik I can’t keep doing this,” Kolya whimpered. “I can’t do this. It’s too horrible.”

“Get a fucking spine, asshole. If you don’t, he’ll just die,” Yavoshenko growled.

“Maybe you want a turn, then,” Kolya snapped, uncharacteristically hostile.

“Someone do something,” Valik begged, then coughed. “I don’t care who. Just get them out.”

Kolya grimaced and closed his eyes for a second, then took a deep breath and reached in again.

 

*

 

Kolya was no a happy man right then.

In fact, he was terrified and exhausted. After taking two of the three night watches, dragging Valik into cover and then having to do surgery on him, now he was carrying him on his shoulders as well as gear for both of them.

Sergeant Yavoshenko was forced to walk on his bad leg. They had to stop often to rest, drink a few sips of water, and make sure Valik was still alive; he’d lost consciousness towards the end. Actually, in a way he’d been lucky; the bullet had hit the side of his pelvis and shattered, so the damage was only to Valik’s skin and muscles. But he was still leaking through his stitches, and Kolya’s main worry was that the stalker would bleed to death before they made it to the Duty base.

“Oh, God,” Kolya moaned, sitting down again and cradling his assault rifle in his lap.

“Don’t take His name in vain,” Sergeant Yavoshenko growled.

Kolya ignored him and fingered the side of Valik’s neck. The pulse he felt was weak and rapid, which meant that Valik had lost a dangerous amount of blood, but at least it was there.

Kolya pulled out a bottle of stale mineral water and sipped at it, then passed it to Yavoshenko, who also only took a small amount. It wouldn’t do them any good to get cramps now. Kolya took it back and dripped a little into his hand, then rubbed it on Valik’s face in an unsuccessful attempt to revive him.

Groaning, Kolya hauled the loner back onto his shoulders and they began moving again. Walking up a wide median that separated two streets, Kolya felt relief when he saw the broken-in wall that led to Duty faction-held territory. Then he realized that in his stolen merc outfit he’d probably be shot to death before Yavoshenko could explain what was going on.

“Almost there,” Yavoshenko whispered. “Almost there.”

Kolya didn’t know whose benefit it had been intended for, but he took it anyway and drew on what were probably his last reserves of strength to carry Valik through the breach and towards the makeshift barrier. Three Duty guards stood behind it. Each one had a black scarf tied over his face and all were very threatening looking. They raised their AC-96 assault rifles when Kolya approached.

“I would put my hands up if they weren’t full,” he said to them, his voice sounding weary in his own ears.

They didn’t relax a hair, even when Yavoshenko limped over to them.

“Stand down, soldiers,” he barked, his voice stronger and harder than Kolya had heard it in days. “I have info for Colonel Petrenko.”

“Identify yourself,” one of the guards growled.

“Yavoshenko Vladislav Yevgenyevich, Sergeant,” Yavoshenko replied, pulling out a plastic ID and handing it to the guard.

The guard studied it for a moment, then handed it back and nodded. “Are those with you?” he asked, pointing at Kolya and Valik.

“Yeah. They’re loners, they just don’t look it right now. It’s safe to let them through. One of them needs a medic, fast.”

The guard nodded, then pulled out a walkie-talkie and began saying things into it. Kolya didn’t pay attention to the words and silently followed Yavoshenko into East Rostok. He wondered why the Duty stalker hadn’t told the guards he was from Freedom, but decided that at the moment it didn’t matter and he was lucky to have gotten inside. They had to stop at another checkpoint so that Yavoshenko could explain himself yet again, to a man apparently named Plichko.

“I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s injured, Yavoshenko,” the guard-sergeant growled. “Colonel Petrenko’s orders are that no outsider gets let in this far. You

fucking know that.”

“Colonel Petrenko’s orders also say, Plichko, that if we’re in debt to anyone, even an outsider, then we gotta do what we have to so we can repay it. This is part

of that! You’d make me ignore that because you’re fucking too stubborn to…”

Yavoshenko trailed off and he and Plichko looked at the same time. Kolya gulped; another Duty stalker stood there, one thick eyebrow raised and an expression of interest on his face. Immediately the two sergeants snapped to attention and saluted.

“No, please, your conversation is intriguing. Go on.”

“Sir. I didn’t hear you coming,” Yavoshenko admitted.

The Duty officer nodded. He peered past Plichko at Kolya, who immediately and instinctively tried to shrink inside of his merc suit because he felt intensely intimidated by this man.

 _Oh, please, don’t come closer. Don’t come closer. My clothes smell like dope_ , he silently begged. So, of course, the officer walked over to him. Kolya wanted to crawl into a hole.

“A Mercenary and a Spetsnaz. Interesting choice of friends, Sergeant Yavoshenko.”

“They’re only wearing the suits of our enemies, sir. They’re both loners.”

Kolya couldn’t believe that Yavoshenko had just lied to one of his commanders. Through his discomfort at being the object of the officer’s unyielding stare, he became more confused at why Yavoshenko was covering for him. Thankfully, the Duty officer now turned back to Yavoshenko.

“Take the injured one into the barracks. He’ll be tended to there. After that, though, this one goes back out of the inner base,” the officer said, jerking his thumb at Kolya. “You’ll be questioned as you’re treated.”

Plichko looked grudging as he stood aside and allowed Kolya to carry Valik through the checkpoint. Yavoshenko led him down into the basement of a factory building that had been reinforced and now served as a bunker for Duty’s HQ. The central area held some mutant heads mounted on one wall; against the same wall was a stove which warmed the space and probably kept it dry. One man slept about a meter from the stove.

Behind the central space was a row of bunks and a couch. Kolya guessed that they hadn’t bothered to make an actual medical facility, because most died of their wounds before they could seek treatment.

He set Valik onto one of the bottom bunks and Yavoshenko climbed into one as well, pulling off his boots and then lying on his back. A tired sigh escaped his throat.

Kolya immediately turned around and left. He didn’t want to be here; he felt as if they would sense any minute that he was their enemy. He tried not to look like he was in too big of a hurry to get out, because that would have been suspicious. It was all he could do not to sigh with relief when he was back in the main part of East Rostok.

Kolya began wandering around. He wasn’t familiar with this place at all; he’d seen it on old outdated maps that Lukash had, but this was the first time he’d been here in person.

It was then that he realized how hungry he was. Pulling off his hood and letting his gas mask hang from his neck by the straps so that he looked less hostile, he began moving towards the sign that said “bar” in big white letters. It was actually very annoying for him when he got there—he discovered that he had to go through that building and into the basement of a different building to actually reach the bar. Once he’d gone down the stairs he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it.

His stolen black boots clunked on a tidy wood floor and a diverse group of stalkers stood around at tables, smoking and drinking and eating. There were some Duty members, which was to be expected because they guarded the place, but there were rookie loners, expert stalkers, and even two bandits.

The entrance to an offshoot room was blocked by a man in a grey exoskeleton, and behind a counter stood a fat man in blue pants and a black shirt. No one seemed to pay any notice to Kolya’s attire.

He cautiously walked over to the counter and the fat man turned his way.

“Um… do you have food?” Kolya inquired awkwardly, not really knowing what he should’ve said otherwise.

“Sure, pal. Noodles, canned stew meat, bread, sausage, processed cheese, potatoes, salted fat, MREs. Got them all here. What are you looking for?”

“What are the costs?” Kolya asked, snaking his hand through his suit and into the back pocket of his fleck-tarn pants.

“Are you looking for cheap or sufficient to actually hold you over for more than an hour?”

“Both.”

“I can’t help you.”

“Alright, fine,” Kolya grumbled, resigning himself to the fact that he was probably about to get ripped off. “I’m really starving.”

“Noodles are about six hundred.”

“Kopeks?”

“Rubles.”

Kolya cringed.

“Uh, what else do you have?”

“Stew meat is five hundred… um, sausage is about two-fifty. Cheese is almost three hundred. Salted fat is eight hundred, but you get a lot of it and it’s good. An MRE is two grand plus, depending on what kind it is and its contents.”

“I’ll take a sausage,” he decided, pulling out a ball of cash that was worthless in the outside world and picking 250 РУб. out of about 310 РУб.

He had more money than this, but it was all buried in a small hole outside the Freedom base so that its inhabitants couldn’t steal it and use it to buy dope. Speaking of which, no wonder he felt so cranky. He hadn’t had a joint in days.

Kolya went over to an unoccupied table and for a second put his head down on it. He wished this place had chairs; all he really wanted to do was rest his aching body. Instead, he lifted his head back up and pulled out the bottle of mineral water he and Yavoshenko had shared on the trip here. He finished it off as he ate his expensive (and no doubt contaminated) sausage.

Sighing, he rubbed his face with his hands and left again. He didn’t really want to linger in any place where Duty stalkers were; it was unlikely that they’d figure him out, but he didn’t want to take the risk (though he doubted that they would be able to smell him over the rank stench of cigarettes that filled the whole room).

Kolya began wandering aimlessly again, then found himself in a building that had holes in its roof. In one corner was a pile of bedrolls, and in the middle three loners sat, talking quietly and tending a barrel-fire.

As if reflecting his dismal mood, it began raining through the holes in the roof, and Kolya decided this was as good of a time as any to take a nap. Unrolling his own sleeping bag on top of some grass in a dry corner, he listened to the guitar music as he closed his eyes. But he didn’t sleep. His worry about getting caught by the Duty warriors set aside for the moment, he now thought about Valik. Kolya didn’t really know if he was a friend to the quiet and brooding loner, but at the very least he was a useful companion. Valik was actually a very puzzling subject for Kolya; he’d listened to him talking to Yavoshenko last night and he wondered what Valik had left out.

Rolling onto his side so that he was facing the wall, Kolya burrowed the side of his head into the small pillow that was attached to the top. He was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places, but this area felt downright hostile to him. How did loners and Duty warriors find rest here? The surrounding fields were crawling with deadly things, and on the three out of four sides that weren’t wooded were entrances to dangerous territories.

His mind ablaze with thoughts, Kolya was groggily surprised when he woke up several hours later; he couldn’t even remember getting tired enough to drift off. It was now about 19.00 hours, and he was hungry again. On top of this he was also very sore from hauling so much weight and then not moving for a long time.

Groaning, Kolya sat up and stretched, then lay back down again. He was so stiff that it hurt to move, so much so that it seemed like it wouldn’t be worth the effort at the moment. He wondered how Valik and Sergeant Yavoshenko were doing; hopefully it was better than he was.

 


	8. Boyevoye Dezhurstvo Dyesyat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valik begins to recover from his injuries right when the Brain Scorcher is shut down.

Vladislav had already gone through it several times with Captain Ivantsov and Colonel Petrenko. Now, even as he was having some of his blood sucked out of him because Valik needed a transfusion, General Voronin was interrogating him.

“How many mercs were found by the helicopter?”

“Twenty or so. A big chunk of their force, sir,” he said, wincing as Sergeant-Major Chernenko fiddled with the transfusion line again.

“Did you encounter any resistance when you were leaving to come here?”

“No, sir.”

“Is it safe to assume that all of the Mercenaries have been destroyed?”

“No, sir. Lieutenant-Colonel Shulga said there’s still plenty of mercs at Yanov-”

“ _In Rostok_ , is it safe to assume that all of the Mercenaries have been destroyed?” Voronin rephrased, grinding his teeth.

Vladislav would have shrank away involuntarily if his back hadn’t been against a wall.

“I don’t got a clue, sir. It’d be stupid to think they’re all dead. We didn’t hit too much resistance, so there could be more of ’em. But West Rostok is crammed with mutants, too. If I tried to go back and empty it right now, I’d just get killed, sir. It’s dangerous over there.”

General Voronin nodded and stood upright again, where before he'd been leaning in to glare at Vladislav. “That’s all for now, then.”

Vladislav wanted to sigh with relief when his commander-in-chief went back to what passed for his office, but decided not to because there were other soldiers around to hear it if he did.

Vladislav rolled his head to his right. His dark brown eyes followed the red-filled tube that led to a small pump and then another tube, which ended at Valik’s arm. The stalker was pale and corpse-like, and Vladislav couldn’t really see him breathing. He wondered if it was a moot point by now.

Once he started getting light-headed Chernenko removed the tubes from their arms and left, probably to boil them so they could be re-used. It was always risky, but medical supplies were a luxury in the Zone, and not one they could really waste.

Vladislav reached down to the floor and dug a bottle of water out of his pack, which he drank down hurriedly. Then he relaxed, sliding the rest of the way down on the bunk until his head was resting on the thin, lumpy pillow. Rubbing his face with his rough hands, he fluffed his pillow as best he could and pulled the worn-out blankets tightly over himself. Hopefully he was the same blood-type as Valik; if he wasn’t, it would be curtains for the loner.

Sergeant Sherkovshuk, one of the squad leaders and also Vladislav’s long-time friend, came over, interrupting his thoughts about death.

“So you’re back.”

“Yeah. All in one piece, except my armor.”

“So what about a merc and a Spetsnaz? They’re saying lots of things about you, and most of ’em ain’t great.”

“Who cares? I can’t do shit about it. As far as bringing in a merc and a Spetsnaz, they’re just using the armors. The one over here was wearing the Spetsnaz armor, but he actually was a Spetsnaz in the Zone. He was a combat medic, actually. He won’t tell me why he left.”

“Maybe the Zone turned his son into a mutant and he’s here to get revenge,” Sherkovshuk joked.

“Get serious, Sascha. It probably ain’t anything like that; he’s a revenging person, but only because some mercs killed his buddy. Actually, I think he’s running from something.”

“Maybe he was stealing shit and selling it to the crook who calls himself a trader in the Cordon.”

“No, he don’t feel like that kind of guy to me. Actually, he’s pretty okay. He shared his noodles with me when I was hurt. They were even warm.”

“Wow. Warm food?”

“He had a little propane burner and he heated them in a can.”

“Hm. You think he’ll pull through?”

“No idea. Why?”

“Well, think about it. He’s an ex-spec ops combat medic and he sounds like a really smart dude. He’d be great for us.”

“Don’t bother, I already tried. Besides, he don’t got the patience for long raids against mutants.”

“Vladik, look,” Sherkovshuk said, nodding in Valik’s direction.

Vladislav turned his head. Valik was staring at the bunk above him and reaching out with the hand that didn’t have an IV in it.

“Sofya… Sofya… _malenkiye devochka… moy malenkiye devochka. Ti_ _krasavitsa…_ oh my God, what have I done?” he whimpered, then his hand dropped and his eyes closed.

“That make any sense to you?” Sherkovshuk asked.

Vladislav looked at his friend and shrugged.

“Nah, I’m completely stumped.”

 

*

 

Valik opened his eyes slowly. The bright light invaded his consciousness like an advancing army, and he wasn’t sure if this caused his head to start hurting or if it had hurt before that. Gradually the bottom of a bunk above his head came into focus, and he became more aware of his surroundings. There was an IV in his right hand and a bandage in his left elbow, as well as one wrapping his lower torso. His shirt and his boots were gone, and all he wore was his battered grey fatigue pants.

Rolling his head to the side, he saw Sergeant Yavoshenko sleeping on his back and snoring away. Valik grinned weakly and wondered how he’d been able to sleep himself with such a racket going on.

Closing his eyes again, he dozed off and on for a few hours until about 06.45. He woke up when someone came over and began switching his IV bag, which had been duct-taped to the side of the bunk above him.

“You’re awake. That’s good,” came a voice he didn’t recognize when he rolled his head to his right.

“Ughn…” he groaned. “Do I look as bad as I feel?”

“Worse,” the other man chuckled. “You’re lucky to have such good friends. If it wasn’t for Vladislav and the merc, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Kolya,” Valik mumbled. “He’s here too?”

“Yeah. Why, are you surprised?”

Valik remembered just in time and shook his head. “No.”

“You got a transfusion, actually,” the Duty stalker said, changing the subject. “You got lucky; Vladislav has the same blood type as you.”

“He’s okay, right?” Valik asked. “He got hit with an M-209.”

“His leg is a little torn up and he’ll need new armor. His ribs ain’t really bothering him.”

“Nothing infected?”

“Nope. You did a good job. You were a combat medic, right?”

“Yeah… is it that obvious?”

“No, Vladik told us.”

Valik opened his eyes. The Duty warrior who stood over him wore a black cloth tied over his face, as was common for many stalkers to do, and under his Sergeant-Major rank insignia a small red cross was sewn onto the sleeves of his suit. Valik was reminded of his days in the Spetsnaz corps.

“Did Kolya get all the pieces out?” Valik asked, beginning to regain himself; he had lost consciousness before Kolya had finished.

“Yeah. His stitching job was terrible, though. You almost bled to death. Everything’s cleaned up now, though, and you should be able to move around a little by tomorrow. I re-did the stitches and washed it out, so there’s no infection and the color is starting to return to your skin.”

Valik nodded against his pillow.

“Good… my circulation is getting back to normal,” he muttered, thinking back for a moment about various cases of bullet wounds that he’d treated. Who’d have ever guessed that he’d be talking with another ex-medic about himself as though he was his own patient? He smiled a little.

“You hungry?”

“A little. Mostly I’m thirsty.”

“Hm. Well, you gotta tell us all about your hot food. Vladislav’s made quite an uproar in the base over this.”

Valik grinned.

“Maybe later I’ll share my secrets.”

The sergeant-major left. Valik settled against his pillow and was about to doze again while he waited for his food but a sudden cease to Yavoshenko’s snoring caught his attention. He turned his head and opened his eyes to see the Dutyer stretching and groaning. Yavoshenko flopped lazily back down onto his mattress and sighed before turning his head and opening his eyes.

“At last, the only stalker in the Zone who cooks comes back to us,” he joked and Valik smiled a little.

“Yeah, yeah. So I heard from the sergeant-major that you’ve been blabbing to all your friends about that. Now he wants me to show your entire faction how to spark a burner under a can of water.”

“Yep, we’re pretty damn dumb. I don’t get how none of us thought of it before you came here.” Yavoshenko shook his head. “Really though, it’s good to have you back.”

“You’re just worried about your debt,” Valik grunted.

“No, really. I’d be bloodsucker food by now—I’d be dead twice by now, actually, if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.”

Surprised at these words, Valik felt touched by this in a strange way. After a moment of stunned silence, he nodded. “Uh… you’re welcome, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “How’s Kolya?”

“Not allowed to come in. The guards ain’t really the trusting type.”

“How’d you get them to let him in?”

“He was carrying you.”

“That skinny-ass? No way,” Valik scoffed.

“Yes way. I couldn’a done it, I’m hurt worse than you. Nope, Kolya dragged you in on his back.” Valik smiled again. What Yavoshenko said next was less amusing. “Who’s Sofya?”

Valik froze. After a moment he rolled over onto his other side so that he wasn’t facing the Duty stalker anymore.

“No one,” he lied. “No one at all.”

“Hey, it’s just a question. Don’t get all pissed.”

“I’m not. Where did the name Sofya come from?”

“You said it. You woke up a little after your blood transfusion, but you were pretty out of it I guess.”

“Yeah, I was. There is no Sofya,” Valik insisted, trying to think of something to change the subject.

Yavoshenko was quiet for a long time. After a while he prodded, “If you don’t wanna talk about it just say so.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Valik insisted, though he knew Yavoshenko knew he was lying through his teeth.

“So you’re like every other loner, then,” Yavoshenko concluded, though his tone wasn’t hostile or even disappointed. “You don’t like no one knowing who you are or were before you came here.”

“Basically,” Valik agreed, not rolling back over. “You’re like this to, Vladik. You said your own origins are top secret.”

“Yeah, I guess, but mine are top secret from my orders. You’re just hiding yourself because you can.”

“Obviously. Will you just let it drop?” Valik asked, growing irritated.

Thankfully, after that Yavoshenko shut up for a while. The sergeant-major came back with some bread and a bottle of mineral water.

“So how do you do it?”

“Do what?” Valik wondered, sitting up slowly because his side was stiff and unscrewing the cap.

“Cook in the Zone.”

“Oh, it’s easy. All you need is a little propane burner and an empty stew-meat can. Pour in the water and hold the can over the flame until it steams, then add the noodles and seasoning. It’s not hard. It tastes better, too, but it’s not very good for contaminated areas because the metal of the can will suck the radiation right into the food.”

“Smart,” the Duty medic nodded, squinting. “Where do you get one?”

“Uh… I don’t know. The one I have was given to me by my dead friend.” He reached down to the floor, thinking his webbing might be there, but it was missing. He looked at Yavoshenko. “You don’t know where they took my gear by any chance, do you?”

“Sure, and I can get ’em to fix it for free if you pay in hot food,” Yavoshenko grinned, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and standing with a wince of

pain.

“Alright, that sounds more than fair, especially since I’m broke.”

Valik devoured his bread and drank the water while he waited. His companion returned with a clean can, another bottle of water, a plastic can of noodles, a sausage link, a container of processed cheese, a small loaf of bread and Valik’s travel-sized burner.

“Captain Ivantsov’s the one you’re cooking for. If he likes it he’ll pull some strings to get your armor fixed and your gun cleaned up.”

Valik sparked the burner to life, then held the can over it after borrowing a glove. It took many boring minutes before the water steamed, at which point Valik poured in the noodles.

“Cut this up for me,” he said, handing the sausage to Yavoshenko with his free hand before adding the seasoning to the water.

The chunks of sausage were added to the makeshift soup as well (after Yavoshenko ate half of them, though Valik wouldn’t have fit all of them anyway). Then Valik handed the can to Yavoshenko so that he could cut the bread in half lengthwise and spread the cheese on the inside of each half.

“Wow. You’re a damn chef,” Yavoshenko commented.

“I hope he likes it. I don’t have two kopeks to rub together. I don’t think I even have one.”

Yavoshenko snorted and handed the can back, then took his knife, carefully licked the cheese off of it, and went to go get Captain Ivantsov. Valik swallowed nervously when the Duty officer was brought over.

“So this is the Spetsnaz medic?”

“No. I’m not a Spetsnaz anymore,” Valik insisted.

“Fair enough. If all this fuss is true, I think I can help you,” Ivantsov said, then he pulled down his hood.

Valik handed him the can first, and he took a second to pull out his knife. The stalker tried not to stare; he wasn’t used to being judged like this, and he wasn’t

used to cooking for anyone but himself and Kostik. It couldn’t have been too terrible, because Ivantsov did eat all of it. But then again maybe he was just acting on the widespread principle of not wasting food you couldn’t afford to replace. When he finished he looked at Valik.

“Hmm… it’s been a couple years now, I think, since I’ve eaten hot food; the stove over there don’t work right and so we can only use it to cook mutants. So, I don’t got much to compare it to. Still, that’s damn sure the best meal I’ve had since I came here four years ago.”

Valik sighed with relief and Ivantsov gave him a hearty slap on the back. Was it just Valik, or were all Duty soldiers built like KAMAZ trucks? Ivantsov probably could have punched him and taken his head off if he’d wanted to.

“Thank you, sir,” he nodded, feeling relieved.

“Good man. I’ll see what I can do about your equipment.”

Ivantsov left. Valik thought that this was a very merciful thing; the captain was intimidating and bear-like.

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Yavoshenko breathed.

Valik couldn’t tell if his companion was being sarcastic or not.

“Why?”

“Ivantsov don’t like nobody in the whole faction. That soup must’ve been really good.”

Valik and Yavoshenko’s conversation was interrupted when there was frantic shouting from beyond the concrete wall that separated the bunks from the main space. Crackly voices came from walkie-talkies and Valik felt nervous. Something was going on, and he didn’t have a clue what it might be.

A Dutyer stuck his head around the corner: “Vladik, come here. General Voronin wants to talk to you.”

Yavoshenko looked startled but obeyed. Valik suddenly felt very exposed; he was the only one here not from Duty, and if they found out that he and Yavoshenko were harboring someone from Freedom nearby they would both probably get executed. At least the shouting had stopped, and from his vantage point Valik could see several Duty soldiers standing to attention with their rifles in their hands.

“Yes, sir,” Yavoshenko said loudly after a minute, then he came back over. “Come on, get up. We gotta go see Ivantsov right now.”

“What? What the hell is going on?” Valik demanded, standing painfully and holding onto the bunk for support.

“Just come on!” Yavoshenko insisted, then put his arm over Valik’s back and supported him up the stairs and out into the factory.

“Vladik, come on, I don’t even have boots,” he protested.

“It’ll make sense,” Yavoshenko promised.

They didn’t have to go far, which was good because the pavement was rough and covered in small stones. Then they were in another building, and Valik saw that it had the office of another Duty officer, who was talking with Ivantsov. Yavoshenko let go of Valik and saluted.

“Captain, Colonel, General Voronin has declared _Boyevoye Dezhurstvo Dyesyat_. On his orders, I get to lead a squad, all equipped with anti-everything in mind. I need you to supply Valik, too.”

Ivantsov and the colonel both looked at each other for a long moment, then turned to Yavoshenko and smiled.

“Yes. I’ve got exactly what you need,” Petrenko said.


	9. Barrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vladik leads a squad towards unexplored hostile territory, with Valik and Kolya tagging along.

“Alright, here's what's gonna happen here: we’re gonna go whipping through the Army Warehouses like a pseudodog with its ass on fire, butcher anything that gets in our way and charge through the barrier like Hell incarnate. Understood?”

“Yes, sergeant!” the Dutyers chorused.

Valik watched this silently. Yavoshenko was in charge of this operation, so he didn’t want to intrude. Kolya was also watching without a word. His face was hidden behind a silver-tinted visor, but Valik guessed he was feeling dismay. A force of Dutyers in exoskeletons and all hauling Grozas was about to go storming through his home territory, and here he was guised as a lone stalker.

Duty was sending a task force through the Army Warehouses simply because it was the quickest route (though not necessarily the safest one) to the barrier, at which point one could cross into the red forest. No one knew what happened once you got there, though, because an impassible psi-barrier rendered the area uninhabitable. No one had gone there and come back alive.

Until now.

According to data from the bartender, which had been immediately passed to Duty, a veteran loner named Myechyeniy had turned off the brain scorcher. Theoretically, the road to Pripyat would now be clear. Valik’s gut told him that there would be other dangers waiting for them there, though.

Valik’s suit had been fixed and by dumb luck Colonel Petrenko had saved a Sphere-12 helmet from his own Spetsnaz service, so he’d given the facemask fromit to Valik. On top of this, Ivantsov had been so happy with Valik's soup that he had argued Petrenko into giving Valik an AS Val assault rifle and several magazines for it for a large discount of 2000 rubles. Valik now looked entirely the part of Spetsnaz, which wasn’t something he liked, but it did fit him.

Technically, he was still injured (it had only been two days since he’d given Ivantsov his first hot meal in years) so he shouldn’t have been going on this mission. But Yavoshenko had insisted. Despite everything, the sergeant seemed to thrive on Valik’s companionship, though Valik also knew he was hoping for more hot noodles. He thought this with a smirk behind his facemask.

Kolya was coming along mostly because it was the only condition Yavoshenko could offer to get Valik to join them. To Valik, Kolya was nothing if not invaluable; he had a superb instinct for danger and his sniper skills were an important asset.

Due to Valik’s injuries (more so than Yavoshenko’s because his exoskeleton supported his body), they would have to travel at a slightly slower pace than they would normally, which could become a problem.

Yavoshenko led them out of the factory and many of the guards who stood at the barrier raised their guns in the air and shouted or clapped their comrades on their backs as they went by. They would be the first members of the Duty faction to ever set foot in Pripyat, and they were widely admired and envied. Valik didn’t really know why—they would be moving into uncharted and extremely hostile territory with dangers that no one could possibly imagine, at least not him.

Even so, despite his exoskeleton, Valik could tell that Yavoshenko’s chest was puffed up with pride at being the one asked to lead this expedition. It was a great accomplishment for him, though he was a little sore over the fact that his best friend could not come with him. Valik hadn’t gotten details beyond that point, but he didn’t ask because he didn’t want Yavoshenko spewing questions about Kostik.

It was a long march up a cracked, snaking road that cut through the same area that the village was and where Valik had first been trapped in with his companions. Even though it had only been about a week since then, to Valik that seemed a lifetime ago. Even Kostik’s death was far away now; his mind was on his upcoming trip to Pripyat. If he was honest with himself, through his terror at crossing the red forest and what might be waiting for them when they arrived, he _was_ a little excited.

Valik and Kolya walked a few meters behind the squad of Duty warriors. Kolya had taken off his helmet so that they could talk, but he whispered.

“I hate this.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Kolya. I didn’t want to drag you into this, it wasn’t my idea. But think of it this way. You’ll be the first member of your faction ever to be in Pripyat, and when you come back you can brag to all your friends about it,” Valik said.

“No, Valik. I can’t.”

“Why?” Valik asked, confused.

Kolya sighed and his dark eyes flicked to the side; an ashamed expression crossed his face.

“Because I’m in disgrace with my faction.”

“What did you do?”

“I can’t tell you, it’s too horrible. It’s not important anyway. But because I’ve been booted, Lukash sent me to find the merc who’d been stealing from us. He told me not to come back until I did, and I still haven’t. Even if I crawl over to the guards dying, they won’t let me in.”

“Wow. What the hell was it that was that bad but they still didn’t have you shot?”

“It wasn’t something that I did.”

“Well then… what was it?”

“It’s nothing, I won’t tell you. Just like you won’t talk about your past, I won’t tell you about mine. Just drop it.”

Valik made a sympathetic expression even though Kolya couldn’t see it behind his helmet. He knew that Kolya wouldn’t be drawn out on the issue.

“Alright, I won’t pry. You’re my friend and I’m looking out for you, that’s why I was asking.”

“You don’t want me as your friend, Valik.”

“Yes I do,” he insisted, not understanding what Kolya was saying. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it. You really don’t want me as your friend.”

They were silent for a long time. Valik did not really concentrate on the march; he was too busy thinking about what Kolya had said. Because he was thinking and not looking where he was going, he slammed into the back of a Duty soldier that stopped short in front of him. Embarrassment turned his ears red, but this was concealed by his helmet. Even so, the Dutyer looked over his shoulder briefly, and Valik knew he was being glared at.

Yavoshenko had also stopped. They’d reached a gate like the one at army checkpoints: the long, rusted metal arm was up but piled behind it were concrete slabs, crashed vehicles and just general wreckage.

Valik narrowed his eyes—the sunlight of 06.30 spread over this sight, making it appear as if anything could be hiding there and he’d never see it until he got too close and it started ripping him to pieces.

Yavoshenko held up his arm with his gloved fist clenched to signal that they should stay there, then began moving towards it slowly with his knees bent and his Groza raised. Valik also tensed, raising his AS Val and glaring down the iron sights. Valik glanced at Kolya and saw that the he wasn’t worried; in fact he looked nonchalant. Instantly he trusted Kolya’s instincts and relaxed.

“There’s nothing here,” Valik called out, knowing that Yavoshenko wouldn’t trust Kolya.

“How do you know that?” hissed one of the Duty squad members through his gas mask.

Valik shrugged.

“My friend has good instincts. He can tell.”

Yavoshenko looked over his shoulder briefly, then surprisingly led them forward without arguing. Valik had expected him to protest more because Kolya was, after all, still from Freedom.

They wove their way through the wreck. As usual, Kolya’s unspoken thoughts had proven correct—nothing was waiting for them in the choked area. However, they did stumble over three Freedom corpses. The bodies had been lying there for a couple of days by the look of things, and all three had been shredded by bullets of a very large caliber. There were no casings around the bodies that matched the NATO guns they carried, so it looked like they’d been ambushed. Valik shuddered as he walked by them.

After passing the gristly sight, they continued up the road and past a small farm inhabited by loners. At this point, though, Kolya grudgingly was persuaded to guide them through the area and he began insisting that they leave the main road.

“Why? We got a good, accurate map of this place,” Yavoshenko argued.

“Do you want me to help you or not? Unlike all of you scumbags, I’ve been here before,” Kolya snapped, making no secret of the fact that he would rather be doing something else. “The road ahead is clogged with wreckage by an old bus station. That area is full of metal objects, so it’s also choked with gravitational anomalies and a hotspot for mutants like chimeras who feed on the dead bodies that get spewed from those anomalies. Our best bet is to cut across those hills-” He pointed. “-and continue from there.”

“What happens to us on those hills?” Yavoshenko demanded.

“You keep being alive and avoid an entire base full of Freedom warriors who’d love an excuse to attack your faction when all your heavy equipment is being used elsewhere,” Valik answered instead. “Look, Vladik. He’s saved both our asses a bunch of times in Wild Territory. Don’t you trust him even a little?”

“No,” Yavoshenko said bluntly. “That was Wild Territory and his mission. This is Pripyat and my mission. We take the road.”

Kolya shook his head, which he’d recently encased inside his curtain helmet.

“Your funeral, man. I’m going this way. Anyone who’s smart will follow me.”

At this, as far as it was possible because his face was hidden, Yavoshenko looked uncertain. He turned to his soldiers and then to Valik, who shrugged and then jerked his thumb at Kolya without a word. At last Yavoshenko growled.

“Fine. We go up the hills,” he said grudgingly.

Despite the fact that he’d won this round of their ongoing struggle, Kolya didn’t seem very pleased with himself. Valik wondered if he was having painful memories of whatever had driven him to shame, or if it was because he just didn’t like Yavoshenko and was sick of having to put up with him.

As soon as they began climbing the hill, Valik had to stop. The movements were too much for his torn and still-healing muscles, and he bent over, trying not to drop his expensive new assault rifle. He sucked in many rapid breaths through his helmet’s gas mask, and suddenly Yavoshenko was standing beside him.

“It’s nothing,” Valik said immediately, though this was plainly a lie. “Just a couple of seconds.”

“Shut up and lean to your right,” Yavoshenko commanded, slinging both their rifles over his armored shoulder and then putting his arm across Valik’s back.

With all of his weight supported by the titanium frame of Yavoshenko’s armor, Valik was able to climb the hill. He was very embarrassed that he needed so much help for this; it wasn’t even a medium-sized hill, just a small one. Turning red behind his mask, he took his gun back and they proceeded at an almost-normal pace with Kolya in front.

“Stop, STOP,” Kolya barked suddenly.

They were near a green trailer. The Freedom member was tense, and alarm was written across his body. Immediately Valik raised his gun and began looking around. Yavoshenko and his squad hesitantly followed suit.

“What is it?” Valik asked, still panting slightly.

“There’s at least one anomaly here and something is stalking us.”

Valik felt a chill run up his spine. The last time Kolya had said those words, he had been shot and almost bled to death. He gripped his gun more tightly and held his breath for as long as he could to listen. But there was nothing. The silence only intensified the fact that his own instincts had picked up on danger and were reacting. Already adrenaline was entering his blood, and the ache in his side dulled, replaced by fear and the knowledge that something was about to attack them.

Even though all of them had been ready with their guns raised, the chimera still caught them with their pants down.

Enormous and ugly, it was a bundle of steel-coil muscles that appeared flying from out of nowhere, massive claws outstretched. Its unfortunate victim was slammed to the ground on his back, and only at then did the signal go off and everyone started shooting at once.

Valik’s powerful rifle bucked against his shoulder as he emptied an entire magazine at point-blank into the creature’s flank. The Dutyers’ Grozas pounded into it as well, but even so it managed to maul its prey before dying. Exoskeleton armor was top of the line, but even it couldn’t stand up to the ferocity of such a brutal assault.

Instantly, after the mutant was dead, Valik’s medic training took over and he dropped to one knee beside the Duty member. “He’s not dead yet,” Valik said, then looked straight at the soldier standing in front of him. “You, help me get him out of this.”

They wrestled the wounded man out of his practically destroyed armor and Valik swallowed. The chimera’s claws had stabbed through the thick Kevlar like it was paper, but luckily they’d been too short to go far after that and had not ruptured the soldier’s chest cavity. However the wounds were still plenty deep and all of his ribs had been broken badly by the force of the impact; it was unlikely he’d be fit to fight any time soon.

“Okay,” Valik muttered, taking a first aid kit out of his web-gear. He disinfected the wound first before administering painkillers and slapping on adhesive bandages. “Carry him on your shoulders back to Rostok. He’ll recover if you hurry.”

The Dutyer nodded, then lifted his wounded comrade onto his shoulders and began running back the way they’d come. Valik packed in his supplies and stood up.

For the first time, he got a good look at a chimera: it was easily the same shoulder height as him, its muscles were taut and powerful, and, disturbingly, it had two heads. He took a tight hold of his gun, feeling as if the slain beast might get back up again and attack him at any moment.

“You said this route was safe,” Yavoshenko growled, all but raising his gun in Kolya’s direction.

“No I didn’t,” he countered. “Valik said it was saf _er_ , which I actually never said was true. And the longer we stand here arguing about it, the more likely it is that some other animal will smell the fresh blood and attack us, and then you’ll lose more men. So let’s go, unless that’s something you want.”

Valik was startled by Kolya’s sudden change in attitude. He knew Yavoshenko wasn’t likely to put up with it for long, and then that would be the end of the Freedom stalker.

Surprisingly, Yavoshenko led them away without a word.

They had reversed sides in their battle against each other. Before, Yavoshenko had been actively looking for an excuse to get rid of Kolya because he seemed to cause more problems than he solved. Now, Kolya was aggressively challenging Yavoshenko’s unsteady authority. Valik didn’t really want to be involved, but he was the only barrier that stood between his companions and their passive and active desires to kill each other.

Sighing inside his helmet, he took up the rear of the singular column. It was a struggle to keep up as they went down and then back up again through the rolling, radioactive countryside. Valik at last had to stop, but since Yavoshenko was busily concentrating on strafing anomalies he didn’t notice. Likewise, Valik didn’t notice that Yavoshenko didn’t notice, and when he looked up he had lost sight of the others.

Where had they gone? Up the hill to the left? To the right? Down the road in front of him? Valik looked around frantically, panic immediately taking him in its icy grip. Despite living in the Zone for three months, he wasn’t afraid of much, but he was terrified of being left behind by his comrades.

[ _Valik where the hell did you go?_ ] demanded Yavoshenko’s voice over his walkie-talkie.

Valik snatched it off his belt and held it up to the speaker on his helmet.

“I didn’t go anywhere, I stopped because my side hurts. I’m on the hill next to the one we killed the chimera on.”

[ _Stay put, Kolya’s backtracking to come get you._ ]

Valik clipped his walkie-talkie back to his belt and mercifully he didn’t have to wait for long. Kolya appeared from the brush and debris to the right side of the road and motioned for him to come over without making a fuss or too much noise. Valik got the idea that something dangerous was nearby and darted over as stealthily as he could, though he immediately had to stop and sit down for several minutes to recover.

Yavoshenko and his squad stood impatiently and guarded with their assault rifles. Valik was starting to feel like he was a burden on them; if he hadn’t been there, they would probably already be in the red forest by now. Even though they didn’t voice such thoughts and were wearing helmets that obscured their expressions, Valik knew that at least half of them were thinking this.

“Vladik, maybe Kolya and I should go back. We’re hindering your progress,” he said.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Kolya agreed, resentment in his voice.

“No,” Yavoshenko grumbled. “We’re too far out by now. I ain’t gonna make it to Pripyat without either of you.”

His words sounded almost forced to Valik, and he knew that Yavoshenko only tolerated Kolya’s presence as the means to an end. Valik was also worried that once Yavoshenko thought Kolya was no longer useful, he would dispose of him.

Valik was pulled to his feet by the sergeant and for the next few minutes of marching he leaned on his comrade for support until he could carry his own weight again. Only now did Valik really grasp how stupid he was to be doing this so soon after he got shot; it would take a miracle for him to get back alive and he knew it.

Up ahead was a Freedom checkpoint that had to have been the barrier. Valik and Kolya hung back a little, looking at this and what was about to happen.

“They’re going to notify Lukash with their radios,” Kolya said quietly, obviously hoping Yavoshenko wouldn’t hear. “He’ll send my faction’s veterans to take care of it, which means they’ll be trailing us through the whole red forest. They might even catch up.”

“How can we avoid them?”

“I’ve looked at old, out-of- date maps of the area and I know a shortcut through the forest itself, but it’s probably dangerous and more radioactive. Paving holds less radiation than dirt. So if we want to live, we’ll take the road. If we want to be quick about getting to Pripyat, we’ll go through the forest. It’s not even much of a forest, just some trees and boulders pinned between a cliff and a fence. The safe money is on the possibility that it’s also crawling with mutants.”

“What would likely be on the road?”

“After some stalker cleaned it out? Who knows, but the fanatics might have reinforced themselves, and they’re not safe to cross, either.” Kolya shuddered for a second. “Give me a chimera any day over a squad of Monolithians.”

“Monolithians?”

Kolya didn’t explain. Rather, he pulled his walkie-talkie off his webbing and flicked it to a different channel. A crackly, monotone voice came over it through the static.

[ _…Zone set you free? Isn’t it wonderful here? You don’t want to die here, do you? We can help you make friends with the Zone, start understanding Her benefits! Do you still consider yourselves to be right? Take a look around! You like it, don’t you? You have found yourself comfortable here, haven’t you? If so, why do you keep saying the Zone is a penalty for mankind? Do you feel uneasy about those unrighteous? Have you got passion for justice? Are you willing to change the world and make it a better place? But maybe you have changed yourselves, haven’t you? You have got so used to pain that you have become its ambassadors in the world—_ ]

Kolya switched it back to the main channel. Valik felt disturbed by what he’d heard, and he looked at Kolya.

“Was that them?”

“One of them, preaching,” Kolya nodded as they walked. “No one really knows what happened to create this faction of lunatics. But a lot of the time they storm the barrier. We always push them back, but each time takes more lives… and Yavoshenko’s friends aren’t helping, either. Not to mention mutants, radiation and general sickness. Once my faction’s been whittled to nothing, there will be no one to hold the barrier, and Hell, real Hell, will flood the Zone from that area.”

Valik shuddered. He could easily believe it.

“What do they look like? Monolithians, I mean.”

“Trust me, you’ll know one when you see one. They cut the heads off their enemies and mount them on spikes a lot to show what areas belong to them, then toss the bones in their fire pits to burn. Some rumors say they eat the bodies of their dead comrades. I don’t believe that one, but even so… generally, anything you hear about fanatics is more likely to be true the nastier it is. Some think they’re not even human, just another breed of mutant. One time as a punishment I served for a couple of days on the barrier, and fought them once. Once was enough. It took two magazines and change to kill just one of the bastards, and even then we still had to put a round through his skull to be sure. They don’t go down easy.”

“That can’t be right. No one holds up to that.”

“These guys really do, Valik,” Kolya said, his voice deadly serious. “Even the ones wearing fatigues and ballistic vests, not even SEVA suits, are near impossible to kill unless you hit a headshot. It’s hard to do, too—they move real fast, always ducking and weaving. It’s like they have no regard for their lives. I’m telling you, they’re not normal.”

“Kolya… I really hate saying you’re full of shit, because up until now you’ve been pretty much always right except for asking the mercs for help. But this… it’s ridiculous. It’s not possible. It defies basic human anatomy.”

Kolya shook his head.

“Believe what you want, Valik. You’ll see it for yourself soon enough, if you’re lucky and live that long.”

His words had an ominous finality to them. Valik suddenly didn’t have time to think about that, though, because Yavoshenko and his squad attacked the Freedom guards at the barrier. Valik stood behind and refused to take part in this fight, because he was a neutral stalker and did not begrudge the Freedom faction. Actually, its disgraced member had been an enormous help.

This led Valik back to the question as to why Kolya was in disgrace. He wasn’t a bad man, and he didn’t seem the type to intentionally wrong people. So what had happened? He probably wasn’t going to get an answer to this, at least not any time soon. Even so, it wouldn’t rest in his mind.


	10. Fanatics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valik, Kolya and the team begin the journey through the radar.

The guards at the barrier hadn’t been especially tough, so even with Valik slowing them they were making good time. Vladislav was still on edge, though. He felt a pressing desire to show his officers that he was up to the task. Usually, he didn’t care one way or the other what his commanders thought of him. But here was this great, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and no one in his right mind would have turned it down.

“We should stay on the road as much as possible,” Kolya informed them as they marched. “It’s less radioactive on the pavement. But it’ll still be pretty contaminated. The red forest was right in front of the reactor when it blew.”

Valik was unusually quiet. Normally when Kolya said something like that, Valik would immediately want to look at every option regarding this: the risks of taking a more radioactive path to shave time off their trip, the possibility that angry Monolithian soldiers would now be swarming the roads like a stirred-up hornet’s nest, and of course which route would give them the best chance of survival.

But not this time. The ex-Spetsnaz said nothing, and Vladislav wondered if it was because he had been placed in command. He had to bear the weight of this task on his own. That meant he would probably have to give Voronin a painfully detailed explanation about why two of his soldiers had been sent back less than four hours into the mission. Vladislav wasn't looking forward to this at all.

General Voronin was a strict commander, and he was completely intolerant of mistakes. Actually, the principles of the Duty faction meant that even things beyond Vladislav’s control were still his fault. If one of his soldiers was out in the rain and got killed by a pack of pseudodogs because he couldn’t see where he was walking, it was Vladislav’s fault for sending that man in ill-prepared.

The Duty sergeant was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed a metal gate in the road that was slid partly open. They had to climb over a fallen log to reach it, and once through it they paused in the cover of a destroyed Zil-131. Poking his head around the front, Vladislav noted a piece of a destroyed vehicle and a tree that could also provide adequate cover. Beyond that was a roadblock with the metal arm in the down position. Even at this distance, he could make out a human guard in the blockpost.

“Well, how the fuck…” he muttered.

“You’ll have to push straight through,” Kolya answered. “That barricade will only have about six Monolithians in it, and you might be able to soften them up with grenade launchers first.”

Vladislav hated to admit it, but the anarchist was right. Growling reluctantly, he nodded at Corporal Kalugin, who loaded his grenade launcher and fired. It sailed in a wide arc down the road and landed smack in the middle of the choke-point, exploding distantly.

“Again, sergeant?”

“Again, corporal.”

Kalugin slid another VOG-25 into place and aimed, then blew the grenade down the road. His aim was off slightly and he hit the roof of the guard building, which would probably be harmless to the enemies because VOG-25s exploded upwards. Vladislav stared hard at the area, and he could see frantic movement darting between the debris.

“One more, corporal.” A third VOG-25 was launched into the space. It hit the ground and detonated just as a Monolithian was running by; lucky timing killed the fanatic in the blast. Vladislav grinned behind his helmet and nodded at Corporal Kalugin. “Good aim, corporal. And now we go in.”

Vladislav checked his Groza for what seemed the millionth time; its body was dented and scratched from the M-209 hit he had sustained in West Rostok, but the gun was as reliable as ever.

The Duty soldiers crept towards the checkpoint, using the rocks, trees and occasional wrecked vehicle as cover. Their weapons, though powerful, were designed for medium and close quarters combat. The large bullets were preciously rare as assault rifle rounds went, and they couldn’t afford to waste them if they could help it.

“Cover, cover,” Vladislav hissed at them. As far as he could tell, they outnumbered their adversaries, but that didn’t mean they could be careless. “Look for headshots if you can.”

He didn’t really need to say it. He knew how well his comrades were trained, and they wouldn’t let him down. It made him feel better to remind them, that was all. Apparently, though, he’d whispered louder than he’d thought, because in that moment the Monolithians noticed them and began shooting. Vladislav poked out of the cover of some boulders long enough to loose a quick burst before ducking behind again. He waited for an instant, then peered around again. He couldn’t believe his eyes; every bullet had found its way into the enemy man’s torso, disemboweling him.

But he still stood, guts handing out and blood slicking down his clothes. And he still shot, too. A round from the AC-96 slit a gash in the side of Vladislav’s black helmet, a hair from finding his face and ending him. He placed another three rounds in the Monolithian’s chest, but still the enemy warrior didn’t stop until his head suddenly exploded in a shower of gore.

Vladislav looked and was surprised to see Kolya crouching next to him, glaring through the scope of his M-16.

“What happened to headshots?” the anarchist mocked him before tracing the next target and firing again.

“You think this damn thing’s got the accuracy for that?” the Duty sergeant spat back in reply.

It didn’t matter too much, though—the shooting stopped abruptly almost as soon as he finished his sentence. Raising his head cautiously, Vladislav saw his squad creeping forward on bent legs with their guns raised. Durimchuk was bravely nudging a corpse with his boot.

“There was only six of them, sergeant,” Kalugin reported, relaxing. “Including the one I got with my launcher.”

Vladislav snorted.

“Fierce fighters,” he said sarcastically, smirking behind his helmet even though Kolya couldn’t see it. “Yeah. That was real fucking difficult.”

The anarchist groaned softly and muttered something about a squad of twenty fanatics being a whole other story. Vladislav didn’t pay attention—he was too busy walking over to inspect the bodies for himself. When he saw one up close it was not what he had initially expected; from Kolya’s descriptions, the Monolithians he had pictured in his mind would be raving lunatics with bloodshot eyes, ragged clothes and half-trashed bulletproof vests strapped on haphazardly.

But that was not what he saw now. Orderly soldiers, not unlike himself (in a frightening way) in tidy urban camouflage uniforms lay sprawled, still clutching their guns in death. Or at least they had been orderly; now they were coated in their own fluids.

“So now what?” Valik asked, startling Vladislav out of his observant state.

“Go rest,” he ordered his companion. “Before you fall over and die. Alright, look, we’re camping here for tonight. Zalikev, Taktarov, get all them bodies outa here.”

Vladislav turned to Kolya, pulling off his helmet.

“What?” the anarchist demanded.

“How long before your buddies catch up to us?”

Surprisingly, Kolya gave him a straight answer.

“We probably have about a day’s worth of elbow room; they’re not organized enough to strike back quickly. But they’ll be in heavy armor with heavy guns, we can be sure of that.”

Having said this, Kolya climbed onto some boxes and managed to get himself onto the roof of the small building where Valik was currently sleeping. Vladislav shook his head.

“That’s such a shitty place to snipe from. The building will get their attention.”

“I know that,” Kolya replied flatly, not looking away from the lens of his scope. “But this is the only good place to get a clear shot from and I’m looking around.”

Vladislav didn’t say anything and left the anarchist to guard; let him if he wanted to. He turned to his squad: “You know the drill—no fires, no loud talking, no smoking. Nothing that can show us off to those fuckers. We move out at 05.30 tomorrow morning.”

“Permission to speak, sergeant,” said Durimchuk.

“Granted.”

“Are we taking the road the whole way?”

“No. It’ll be quicker and easier to go under that cliff. It’s maybe a kilometer instead of more than two and there probably ain’t gonna be too many Monolithians there. We just gotta go through quick because of the radiation.”

“Why the hell do we stop now? Er, sergeant. It is only 15.45,” said Kalugin.

“Valik’s sleeping. We go at his pace, he’s our medic and we need him.”

“What about the anarchist? Why do we put up with him?” asked Zalikev.

“We don’t got a choice,” Vladislav admitted. “He knows this place good enough and these assholes good enough that we’re overlooking him as an anarchist.”

“I’m not an anarchist,” Kolya said, jumping down and landing in a crouch. He stood up again and slung his gun over his shoulder. “I don’t belong to Freedom anymore.”

“I thought you’re disgraced.”

“I was. Lukash said that if I could bring him the toes of whoever was stealing shit from us, he’d let me back in. He didn’t say exactly that, but he got the point across in so many words.”

“So, spill. Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?” Vladislav demanded.

Kolya sighed, and surprisingly gave in.

“My name is Turchakov Nikolay Boguslavovich. I came here from Odessa because my father was a liquidator. I’d heard that there were miracles here, things that could cure incurable diseases. I travelled to the Dark Valley with another stalker, and Chekhov told me that if I found the right artifact, I could bring it home and save my father. I looked and looked for months. Around the time that we were hauling to the Army Warehouses, I travelled to the cordon and bribed the army into letting me send a message to my mother. I told her that I was close, that I would be home soon with something to save his life. When she replied, I learned that he’d died a week after I left. But I’m still looking, just so I’ll have something to show for it.”

“Oh,” was all Vladislav could think of to say.

“Remember the artifact I snatched before you could get it? I thought it could be the right one. It wasn’t, so I sold it. I’ve never found the right artifact. I probably never will. It’s too rare.”

“What’s it called?”

“Soul. No stalker in my faction has seen one. It’s legendary for its healing powers. I want to find one, and maybe go home to Odessa and bring it to my

mother. I know if I send it through someone else it’ll never get there. But it’s a moot point anyway. I don’t have one.”

Vladislav had nothing to say about this. Ever since he’d met Kolya and Valik, he’d assumed that the Freedom stalker was a no-good junkie who’d come to the Zone so he could smoke his joints without fear of arrest. Now that he knew the truth, he felt terrible. It was sort of surprising for him, because he’d never expected himself to sympathize with an anarchist.

“Well um… I was in the army, right? They were gonna send me to Kyiv. But then something happens here, and so I get stuck in here, instead. I ain’t allowed to say too much more... But you know who I am, and I know who you are,” Vladislav said, hoping to get rid of some of the awful feeling inside him.

“And neither of us knows who Valik is,” Kolya mused, in slightly higher spirits now. “We’d have killed each other without him, and neither of us knows who he is or why he’s here.”

“He was a Spetsnaz here,” Vladislav shrugged. “Easy.”

“You’re not so good at reading people, are you? There’s something more to him than that.”

Vladislav looked over his shoulder at his squad.

“You’re all dismissed,” he growled, then he and Kolya wandered over to the building and began talking in low voices. “So, then why you think he’s here?”

“I don’t know. But look at how desperate he was to get back at the Mercenaries after his friend got killed. Whatever it is, it probably has to do with revenge.”

“Nah. Anyone for revenge on the Zone, they’re my boys, in Duty.”

“That’s not really what I meant,” Kolya said.

“Then what did you mean?”

“I mean maybe he’s getting revenge on somebody by being here.”


	11. Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a pause with vodka involved, it's finally revealed why Kolya was banished from his faction.

Valik groaned when he was prodded into wakefulness. His side was stiff and sore, and he’d been having a dream about pulling potatoes out of an anomaly and throwing them at a chimera so that he could take an artifact from between its toes. The sheer ridiculousness of it was a relaxing change from the real Zone, and he felt almost sad to see it go. Slowly he was able to force his eyes open, and he was staring at the expressionless helmet of a Duty soldier; he couldn’t tell which one. Groaning again, he sat up and reached for his AS Val.

“We’re moving out now,” the Dutyer informed him.

“Which way?”

“Through the forest.” And then he left.

Valik climbed to his feet. All of his muscles pulled stiff now, not just the injured ones. It had been a long trip for such a short hike yesterday, and he wished he was back sleeping off his wounds in Duty’s HQ. He’d rather be serving the entire faction hot meals than be stuck trudging along in this miserable place.

“I hate my life,” he muttered as he left the building after checking his gun.

“Why?” asked Kolya, startling him.

“Many reasons,” Valik said, not particularly wishing to elaborate.

“And you won’t tell us, I assume.”

 _You assume correct_ , Valik thought, choosing to stay silent because he didn’t really feel like talking to anyone right then.

“You’ve seen it on a map?” Yavoshenko asked, looking at Kolya.

“Yes,” Kolya nodded. “It’s hard not to go the right way. One side is a cliff and the other is a fence, and there’s actually not that many trees, it’s mostly rocks and dirt. You want the fence on your right.”

Valik took point so that if he stopped they wouldn’t lose sight of him again or vise-versa. Yavoshenko walked to his left.

“You sore?”

“Some,” Valik lied. _A lot_ , he thought, which was the truth.

“Maybe I shouldn’a had you come.”

“That’s okay. I know you’re in it for the noodles.”

Yavoshenko chuckled. “Yeah, duh,” he joked. “But sergeant-major Chernenko couldn’t come, they need him there. You’re the only other medic I know.”

They walked down a sloped part of the road. To the left was a “corner” of the cliff that they would round, then they’d follow it through the forest. About two seconds before they stepped out from behind the rocks Kolya visibly stiffened and stopped. Valik grew nervous and also stopped.

Yavoshenko and his squad didn’t stop. They kept walking up the road as normal, not seeming to notice.

_**BDAM!** _

The shot rang out through the radioactive air. Kolya jerked, startled by the noise, and ducked back against the cliff due to lack of any other cover. All of the Duty stalkers backpedaled behind the “corner” again, scurrying to get away from the sniper. Except one. A split second before the noise had reached their ears, his armored head had exploded in a spray of red gore and brain meat. A few chunks of bone hit the ground audibly and his body collapsed into a heap where he’d been hit.

“ _Na koy hyer!_ ” Yavoshenko hissed. “I didn’t see the fucking shot!”

“Who’d he hit?” Valik asked.

“Corporal Durimchuk.”

“That wasn’t a normal gun,” Kolya said.

“No fucking shit there,” Yavoshenko snapped.

“No, he’s right,” Valik realized. “It’s something in the Dragunov family. My friend Misha Nikitovich had one when I was still a Spetsnaz.”

He crept forward, practically on his belly so that he would stay hidden by the boulders. If he could just make it to that tree, he’d probably be able to get the Monolithian sniper to reveal himself. About halfway there, he stopped—he could see a small patrol of fanatics coming up the road at a bend near a rusted T-85 and some trees. Hissing profanities his mother would slap him for saying, he looked over his shoulder.

“Kolya,” he hissed, trying not to draw the attention of the sniper. Kolya didn’t notice. “Kolya!” he said again, a little louder this time.

“What?” Kolya whispered back.

“I can see three of them coming, I need you to cover me while I take out the sniper.”

“I can’t see anything from here!” Kolya protested.

“Then come where I am. Keep yourself low.”

Kolya’s silver-tinted visor nodded, then he crawled over slowly on his belly.

The patrol was close enough now that Valik could start to make out the camouflage patterns on their uniforms. Valik worked his way over to the tree, hoping desperately that his SKAT suit would blend well enough with the rocks to hide him from their eyes. As soon as he raised his head to look for the sniper Kolya’s gun barked and he began firing at the Monolithian patrol. One was immediately hit in the face and collapsed, but the other two were now moving, strafing to either side and firing back.

Valik returned his attention to looking for the sniper. He could see a small green trailer as well as a grey cabin with a platform on its roof. Atop it was the sniper, who was foolishly still looking at the area where Yavoshenko’s squad had carelessly marched into the open.

This would be the last mistake the sniper ever made. Valik glared down the barrel of his gun with one eye, taking the Monolithian’s head in his iron sights. A single silenced Vintorez round was spat from the open end of the gun, which punched through the eyepiece of the man’s gas mask. The body sprawled backwards, blood splashing down from his face.

Valik grimaced behind his mask and turned to the patrol. One of the Monolithians was having a fierce gun battle with Kolya but the other one was flanking, trying to sneak up to the side. Valik fired a short burst across the road. The large-caliber rounds ripped a bloody hole in the fanatic’s gut, sending him onto his back. At the same time Kolya got a lucky headshot and the third one dropped, falling against a rock.

Valik got up from where he was crouched and went over to the one he’d disemboweled. The Monolithian wasn’t dead yet, he was still squirming and trying to get up, though apparently his legs wouldn’t move. Valik must have hit his spine. Kolya came over as well and Valik planted his boot on the enemy warrior’s chest.

“What’s in the forest?” he asked.

The fanatic didn’t really answer—his reply was garbled by blood bubbling in his throat and muffled by his gas mask. Kolya ripped it off his face.

“We asked you a question,” he growled.

“Defend the Monolith… always… I will hold to the last,” the warrior burbled, then he coughed and was still.

Valik and Kolya looked at each other.

“Well, he wasn’t very helpful.”

“Nope,” Kolya agreed.

“We’ll just have to learn the hard way what’s in the forest. Hey, Vladik! We’re ready to go now!” Valik shouted.

While they waited for Yavoshenko to move his squad, Valik and Kolya walked over to the area where the sniper had been. Surprisingly, there were two bodies. Then Valik remembered that a loner had cleaned this place out before.

“Oh, wow. Would you look… at… that,” Kolya breathed.

“What?”

“That,” Kolya said again, walking over and then picking up an SVU Mk2. “Based off the original design of the Dragunov, but lighter and with a faster rate of fire. Yes, this one is definitely coming home with me.”

Valik got the idea that his friend was grinning inside his helmet.

“Will you keep your assault rifle?”

“Why would I need to? There’s so many lying around out here that I can just pick up one of theirs.”

Kolya dropped all of his ammunition and his scoped M-16, then rummaged the two corpses and filled his webbing with about a box worth of 7.62X54mm cartridges.

“Are you happy, Kolya?” Valik asked, also grinning.

“Yes. Right now, I am a very happy man.”

“Shit. Where’d you get that badass gun?” Yavoshenko said when he walked up.

“Those lunatics gave it to me. They didn’t really need it anymore,” Kolya joked.

They left the sniper post and began moving into the thin trees. Valik’s skin prickled under his armor and fatigues; this place was eerie and quiet. Too quiet. It felt as though a hundred hungry predators were eyeing him at once, stalking him and waiting for the opportune moment to turn him into its prey. It was definitely too quiet.

But only for a moment.

“SNORKS!” screamed a Duty soldier and immediately six Grozas all barked their deafening roar.

The ugly growl of the mutants found Valik’s ears inside his helmet and he fired a burst at one of them, hitting it in its flank. This only served to make it angry and it leaped at him; he tried to move to the side but it slammed into his right shoulder and bowled him onto the ground. Valik made a face as drool stringed from its mouth and all over the visor of his helmet.

 _No, I can’t die this way_ , he thought as he rammed his elbow into its face to knock it off-balance.

While it was disoriented, he reached up and gripped its filthy, muscular neck in his gloved hands. His fingers tightened as much as they could and he ground his teeth, not allowing his muscles to slacken. But the snork wouldn’t take no for an answer. Valik forced himself to keep strangling it even as its fists slammed repeatedly into his faceplate, making him see flashes with each impact.

Suddenly a grey boot slammed into the face of the snork, ripping it free of Valik’s grip and knocking it away. It landed hard and didn’t have the chance to get back up again, because a heavy round ripped into its skull. Kolya reached down his hand.

“Thanks for that,” Valik said, grabbing it and allowing his companion to pull him to his feet.

He picked up his gun off the ground and sucked in a quick breath when pain stabbed his side as he bent over. Wrestling with snorks was not good for his injuries. Standing upright again, he shot five rounds at a second snork and didn’t hit a thing because its movements made it difficult to hit.

Kolya didn't have this problem. As it leapt at them he fired two shots from his new sniper rifle and hit with both—one through its chest and the other through its head. Valik looked at Kolya, impressed and wondering how he’d gotten to be such a good shot.

Valik moved towards where the Duty soldiers were recklessly firing without aim at three more snorks, rarely ever hitting one. Watching them, Valik could believe that they had only been regular army—a former Spetsnaz, even one who’d only been a private, would know better.

“You’re wasting your ammo!” Valik shouted. “Aim for their heads!”

Yavoshenko’s helmet was ripped from his head when a snork leapt on him and rammed its fist into his chin. He was knocked onto his back and the mutant’s dirty fingernails tore three gashes in his face. Bellowing in anger, Yavoshenko heaved his powerful body and threw it off, then jumped onto it and throttled it violently, his knee in its gut and slamming its head off the hard ground.

Valik and Kolya took shots at the snorks, being careful not to hit the Dutyers (even though Valik was sure Kolya would like to). Valik held his breath as he made his calculated shots. He’d had some sniper training, yes. But he’d also been extensively drilled to conserve ammo if he could.

Once the last snork was dead, Yavoshenko came over, holding his helmet:

“Can you fix my face?”

Valik sighed.

“Hold still,” he said, walking over and pulling out his field box.

“Now I got two head wounds,” Yavoshenko said, then yelped when Valik poured vodka into the scratches.

“Yes, you do. And neither of them is infected.” He plastered an adhesive bandage onto Yavoshenko’s cheek. “Keep that on until I say so, unless you want that to change.”

Yavoshenko nodded wordlessly and slid his helmet back on over his head, being careful of his bandage. Valik looked at Kolya. The Freedom stalker was checking everything on his gun a few meters away.

“He lied to us,” Yavoshenko said quietly.

“About what?”

“He ain’t just disgraced. He ain’t even part of Freedom anymore.”

“Shit. I wonder what he did that was so bad.”

“It must’ve really been something. But they could’ve just offed his ass… Why didn’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Valik shrugged.

“He’s looking for some Soul artifact,” Yavoshenko added. “I ain’t ever seen one, you?”

“There’s no such thing,” Valik scoffed. “If there was, more people would’ve seen them. No one I’ve ever met has seen or heard of them. It’s probably just someone making some shit up to one-up an idiot who found a Meat Chunk laying around.”

“I guess. But… you know… maybe, we can let him hope a little longer…” the Duty sergeant said somewhat uncertainly before relaying Kolya’s sad story to Valik.

The sound of his voice indicated that now that he knew this, he saw Kolya in a new light. Valik was surprised and impressed. He didn’t think Yavoshenko would have ever gotten used to the ex-Freedom stalker, but now not only was he used to him, he felt sorry for him. It was interesting and strange at the same time.

“Huh. Well, if all the rumors I’ve heard from other stalkers are true, there’s a gold mine of artifacts in Pripyat. If there really is such a thing as a Soul, he might find one there.”

“We gotta get there first,” Yavoshenko muttered, then began shouting. “Hey, anarchist! Let’s go!”

Kolya looked up and began walking towards them. Yavoshenko took point again and they began moving. With every step the speaker for the Geiger counter in Valik’s helmet clicked louder until it was a machine-gunning sound and the needle was in danger of breaking from being forced so far off the scale. This worried him immensely.

“We need to get out of here or we’ll cook like eggs,” he said.

“You can’t run, though.”

“I’ll just have to anyway. It’s either run or die,” he insisted.

Yavoshenko nodded, even though he wasn’t facing Valik.

“Double-time, MARCH!” he barked.

Instinctively, Valik started running. The Duty squad did, too. Almost immediately his side burned and he was falling behind, struggling to keep up with them. But radiation was lethal, much more dangerous than popping a stitch or two. Even so, he couldn’t keep it up.

“Dammit…” he wheezed. He’d probably sentenced himself to death. “Dammit…”

His knees gave and he toppled like a stack of bricks. Was it blood or sweat making his shirt damp? He couldn’t tell. His Geiger counter still hammered in his ear, and he knew he needed to get up and leave, but his side hurt so much that he didn’t care and all he wanted to do was lie on the hard ground like that until the world ended. But he didn’t. Something grabbed him and pulled him back up, and he was staring at the silver visor of a SEVA suit.

“Come on, Valik. Get up. Climb onto my back” Kolya said.

Still breathing hard, Valik struggled to his feet and grabbed hold of Kolya’s shoulders. It wasn’t comfortable, especially because of the life-support pack pressed against his chest, but it would have to do for now. Valik did his best not to strangle Kolya with his arms by accident as his companion ran.

“It’s a good thing you’re so short, Valik,” Kolya grunted. “If I had to carry Yavoshenko, I’m probably be crushed under the weight even if he wasn’t wearing armor.”

“Hey! That ain’t funny!” Yavoshenko snapped from a few meters ahead of them.

“He didn’t mean you’re fat, just big in general,” Valik said. “And besides, he’s right. You weight a ton, man.”

“Yeah, well, I’m like a damn chimera. I’m big and mean as fuck,” Yavoshenko said.

“No, you’re big and egotistical,” Kolya argued.

“Huh?” Yavoshenko asked, his voice betraying confusion.

“Dumb, too,” Valik said and there was a collective snicker from the squad.

“And also, according to every other loner I’ve met, guys who are big like you  _aren’t_ very big.”

Yavoshenko didn’t say anything for several seconds.

“Well? If he’s wrong, tell him,” Kolya prodded.

“Shut up,” Yavoshenko said sourly.

Valik and Kolya snickered, and so did all of Yavoshenko’s soldiers.

“I think we got him,” Valik said to Kolya and his companion laughed and nodded.

After a few minutes Valik’s Geiger counter finally went down to about a quarter of the way up the scale. They slowed back down again and Valik climbed off of Kolya’s back, glancing around.

This area was even uglier and more hostile-looking than the first. Valik studied it carefully with his eyes. Burnt Fuzz anomalies hung from the branches of trees, waiting for a careless stalker to walk through the vines that would destroy his armor and slice open his skin underneath.

Jagged boulders peppered the area, large enough to conceal an enemy behind them. Beyond that, Valik could see where the cliff met the fence. It had a hole torn through the chain-links. He narrowed his eyes. Someone had been here before them, and from the looks of the corpses ahead, they weren’t friendly.

Valik tensed and raised his AS Val to his shoulder.

“Vasilyevsky, Kalugin, left side. Taktarov, Goryovin, right side. Zalikev, Valik, on me. Kolya, climb that rock and cover. Go,” Yavoshenko ordered softly, apparently also aware that something might be nearby.

Valik stood on Yavoshenko’s right. Kolya obeyed, though Valik had thought he wouldn’t. Apparently Kolya could sense something.

Taktarov and Goryovin crept along the boulders in the corner of Valik’s eye. Suddenly both of them stopped and hurried back, crouching so the boulders would hide them. “Zombified stalkers,” Taktarov whispered. “My headcount is about ten.”

Yavoshenko nodded, then made a hissing noise and motioned for Vasilyevsky and Goryovin to come back. Valik climbed the rocks where Kolya was and stuck his head far enough above them so that he could see.

A group of them moved from another part of the forest where the fence was hidden. Some were dressed like bandits, some had loner outfits, and a couple even had exoskeletons. Valik swallowed and looked at Yavoshenko. The sergeant shook his head and waggled his hand parallel to the ground with his fingers together to say not to shoot. Valik nudged Kolya gently with his elbow and repeated this motion, then went back to watching the zombies.

He hoped they couldn’t see him, but if they could, then they didn’t really seem to care. They wandered forward, seemingly aimless, holding rusted guns limply in their stiff fingers and staring ahead, not seeing.  _These are obviously victims of the scorcher_ , he thought. _But it’s shut down now. Shouldn’t they be back to normal?_

Perhaps it didn’t work that way. Thinking again on whether they saw him, he couldn’t tell if they were still hostile, but it wouldn’t pay to take the chance. Some of them muttered things, meaningless fragments of sentences they’d lost the ability to understand. Valik suddenly realized how lucky he was; these were the unlucky ones, victims of the Zone’s cruelty. He realized this even more when he heard the closest one muttering.

“I… money… my family,” the brain-scorched man mumbled. “Bring them… more… go home.”

“Sofya,” Valik whispered to himself, a single tear finding his eye.

He sank back down out of sight and leaned his head on a rock, remembering. Lost in his thoughts, he was startled back into reality when Kolya shook him hard.

“You asleep in your suit, bro? They’re gone.”

“Oh.” Valik nodded. “I… I was just thinking about something.”

“What?”

“Nothing important,” he said.

“Well, it must’ve been something. I said your name three times and you didn’t hear me.”

“I was just remembering someone I left behind,” he admitted.

Kolya nodded. “I understand. I left people behind, too. One of them died after I left.”

“Your father.”

“Yeah. Yavoshenko told you?”

Valik nodded.

“Let’s go! Your slowness is twisting my balls!” Yavoshenko shouted from below.

Valik climbed down and began following the squad again. The words of the zombified stalker stirred in his mind. He thought of his own family, which didn’t really exist anymore. This wasn’t entirely his fault, but only now did he realize that he shouldn’t have done what he did then.

“It’s clear through here. We’ll stop and sit for a little,” Yavoshenko said.

They sat down in front of an old bus stop on the road. Valik plunked down in between Yavoshenko and Kolya, and Yavoshenko opened a bottle, pulled off his helmet, took a swig and passed it to his right. Taktarov took it and also swigged, then his eyes widened in surprise.

“Stolichnaya?”

Yavoshenko nodded, grinning as he pulled his helmet back on.

“Only the good shit. I snagged some from Ivantsov.”

There was a collective chuckle from the Duty soldiers. When the bottle found Valik, he took a greedy gulp and handed it back to his companion, who tucked it away safely into his webbing.

“Ah, reminds me of home,” Zalikev sighed. “Back in Zhitomir. My wife, my little boys.”

“Why are you here, then, Arkady?” asked Kalugin.

“Debt. Too much to pay off. I was told: ‘You’ll join the army or go to prison.’ I joined the army, then Duty. Maybe I find a nice artifact, sell it to those government scumbags, pay off my debt and retire,” Zalikev said and they all chuckled again.

“Is your wife pretty?”

“Gorgeous,” Zalikev said, his voice betraying his grin. “And she don’t talk too much, either.”

“Sounds like you got a perfect woman,” Kalugin said. “Me, I ain’t married. Never even came close. My perfect woman would be really pale, like me, with nice eyes and curls. And a nice bust, too,” he added.

Taktarov snorted.

“You both got it wrong. I’d want her to talk—about me, of course, and how lucky she is to be with me and not some other dick-on- a-stick from Kyiv with some fancy education and a limp cock.”

“No no no no no,” Yavoshenko argued. “You’re all wrong. If I could go to some factory and build my perfect wife, blue eyes, dark black hair, and very nice thighs. Hands down. What about you, Valik?”

“No, don’t drag me into this. I need more vodka if I’m going to talk about women.”

“Oh, come on,” Taktarov insisted.

“There is no such thing as a perfect woman. They’re all nasty bitches who deserve it when they’re playing some guy like a hand in cards and then get knocked up and stuck with a kid because they don’t have enough money for their abortion,” he hissed bitterly.

“Whoa, Valik. Have a bad time? Did you get divorced?”

“No. She died before that could happen,” Valik growled.

“Are you sure you hate women, Valik? Or are you gay?” Vasilyevsky said.

“Is there something wrong if he is?” Kolya asked.

“Yes,” Yavoshenko said. “I don’t want some _pyedik_ standing there checking out my ass.”

“I’m not gay!” Valik insisted, blood filling his ears in his anger.

“What about you, Kolya? Are you a _gomik?_ ” Kalugin prodded.

“And why are you turning on me now?” Kolya demanded.

Even though Kalugin sounded like he was joking, for once Kolya was dead serious.

“Seriously, are you?”

“Yes!” Kolya shouted, standing up. “I am! You know what, God fucking forbid I’m able to leave that behind! I didn’t just come here for some damn artifact, I also wanted to be someplace where people didn’t know that and I didn’t have to live with it! I already feel about as ashamed of myself as I can about it! That’s why I’m disgraced! That’s why I’m not part of my faction anymore! Because no one can handle that! Even among the retards in the Freedom faction who fill their heads with chemicals I can’t belong! I don’t know why this is so hard for you! I’m not here to ass-fuck you and I’m sure as hell not here so that I can take more of this shit from you ass-holes who don’t even know me! I’m here because I told my mother I would bring her back something that would make my father healthy! That’s what I’m going to do! If you can’t deal with it, find someone else to help you, because _I won’t!_ ”

And he stormed off up the road, presumably in the direction of where the Brain Scorcher had been. Valik just stared after Kolya, even when he disappeared around a distant turn.

All of the Dutyers were silent. They probably hadn’t expected to hear all of that. Valik honestly didn’t know what to think, either. On the one hand, part of his insides cringed at the thought that he’d been standing and working near Kolya this entire time; that part had been hammered into him from birth. On the other hand, Kolya was very loyal and had proven himself on multiple occasions. Not only was he useful, but he was also an outstanding comrade. And there was no excuse for what the Duty warriors had said to him.

Valik glared at each one of them, at Yavoshenko and Kalugin for the longest times.

“I’m ashamed to know you people,” he hissed, then stood up and walked away, too. He pulled his walkie-talkie off his belt. “Kolya, it’s Valik. Wait up.”

[ _Why?_ ]

“Because you’re right, and like it or not you’re my friend.”

There was a sigh.

[ _Whatever._ ]

Valik caught up with him a few meters from the bend in the road. He was standing with his head hanging and his Dragunov SVU hanging limply from one hand.

“Kolya look…” he started to say, but then realized he didn’t know how to finish it. “I’m sorry,” was all he could come up with.

“For what?” Kolya muttered. “You didn’t say anything.”

Valik was silent for a while and they began wandering at a slow pace up the road, which was strewn with Monolithian corpses.

“Look, for what it’s worth, I didn’t know,” Valik said. “I never would’ve guessed. You seem perfectly normal to me.”

“Yes, but now that you know you look at me different. Don’t even say you don’t, Valik. Everyone does, including you.”

“Well, you’re right, Kolya.”

“And now you don’t even care enough to lie to me.”

“Let me finish,” Valik said, as gently as he could. He intended to comfort his friend. “I do see you differently. You’re way braver than me. I could never admit it, probably not even to myself, if I was… you know… like you. I’m not, and I won’t say I understand because I don’t. But I have a lot of respect for you now.”

“Seriously?” Kolya asked, his voice startled.

Valik nodded. “Besides, I’m sure that when you find your artifact and go home, you’ll probably find some great guy who’s like you. And you also have it going for you that your face isn’t asking for a brick,” Valik said and Kolya chuckled.

“At least somebody noticed,” he said, then added, “even if you are straight.”

“So why are we going this way?”

“To look for artifacts. Besides, don’t even say you’re not curious to see it now that it’s accessible.”


	12. Dead City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valik and Kolya get caught by the military, and then Kolya learns who Valik really is.

Kolya knew that there was probably something dangerous still in the Brain Scorcher, and he guessed from Valik’s tenseness that his friend felt it, too. Something was going on up here, and the distant crack of gunfire only served to prove him right.

“ _Prikroy menya!_ ” a voice shouted from beyond the brick wall, followed by some more words that were indistinguishable.

“Are they shouting at us?” Valik asked.

“No.” Kolya shook his head. He turned to watch a loner in a SEVA suit not unlike his slip through a crumpled corner of the wall and begin making his way down the road. “I wonder where he’s going.”

“Who knows,” Valik answered. “I don’t really give a shit, as long as he’s not shooting at us.”

Kolya and Valik walked along the brick wall until they came to an open gate. Kolya crouched and leaned out from behind it, then peered through the scope of his Dragunov SVU. There were some who were obviously Monolithians, and they were blasting away madly at the sky. Kolya looked up and saw army helicopters with guns, which were shooting back at the Monolithians.

He could hear boots clunking behind him, suddenly, and then even more suddenly a gun barrel was pressed against the back of his head.

“Don’t move, stalker. Don’t even breathe,” a voice hissed.

Kolya obeyed and held his breath.

“Why are you wearing our uniform, stalker?” a second one hissed.

“I found it in Wild Territory,” Valik said honestly.

“You lie. Both of you, _up!_ ” the first one barked. “Drop your guns!”

Kolya set down his sniper rifle and slowly stood up. The gun barrel was kept level with the back of his head, and he knew that his head was probably not about to be there anymore.

“Turn around very slowly.”

Kolya turned and faced their captors. These warriors were Ukrainian Spetsnaz, bundled in SKAT suits and holding AS Val assault rifles. If Valik had been alone, he could easily have passed for one.

“M-Mikhail? Misha Nikitovich?” Valik asked suddenly.

The soldier who pointed his gun at Kolya jerked in surprise. “Anton?” he said, his voice equally as shocked.

Valik pushed away from the other Spetsnaz and then shared a brief embrace with the soldier named Mikhail.

“Oh, wow. I never thought I’d see you again,” Valik—or, rather, Anton—said.

“Same here, man. Where’d you go, anyhow? Everyone was in an uproar! You just up and vanished into thin air, and there was that thing about your wife, and then we found your uniform all shredded and bloody! We thought you were dead, and that was three months ago! And now here you are! What happened?” Mikhail asked.

“I… Misha… don’t make me talk about it,” Valik—Anton—said, shaking his helmeted head.

“Oh, okay. Who’s this one, then?” Mikhail asked, pointing at Kolya.

“That’s my friend Kolya. He used to be in the Freedom faction. He’s not with them, anymore.”

“Hm. Well, sorry for the inconvenience, Kolya. Zhakirovsky Mikhail Nikitovich.”

He held out his hand and Kolya slowly accepted his handshake.

“Turchakov Nikolay Boguslavovich,” he said, then let go.

“We’re making a push for Pripyat,” Mikhail said, addressing Valik—no, Anton—again. “Where are you headed?”

“Actually, we were going to check out the Brain Scorcher, but do you mind if we tag along?”

“Sure, we could use you both,” Mikhail admitted. “I’m the only sniper left. It’s only thanks to my artifact that I’m still alive.”

“You’re lucky to have it,” Kolya remarked. “What kind of artifact is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Mikhail admitted. “I kept asking people, but no one could tell me because they’ve never seen it before.”

He pulled it out of his webbing and Kolya thought his eyes would fall out of his head. It was a bumpy object with a translucent tan surface, and within the core a warm orange glow was visible. Kolya realized he’d been holding his breath and let it out.

“I know what that is,” he said. “I know exactly what that is. It’s a Soul. I’ve been looking for one for months. Where did you find it?”

“Here,” Mikhail shrugged. “Just recently, maybe a few hours ago. Then we started tangling ass-holes with these lunatics, and it was lucky for me that I did find it.”

Kolya stared at it longingly for many moments.

“We should get going,” Valik—Anton—said. “Otherwise Vladik will beat us to it.”

“Vladik?” Mikhail asked.

“Vladislav Yavoshenko. He’s leading a squad of Duty soldiers into Pripyat. Another squad of Freedom guys isn’t far behind them, either.”

“Well, we’re leaving soon anyway,” Mikhail said. “Vrokev and I were checking to make sure this part was secure. Thanks to the Monolithians, we have a couple of extra seats in our helicopter.”

Mikhail led them into the confines of the brick wall and then over to one of the helicopters. Kolya climbed in and sat beside Anton, and immediately wondered how this man could claim to be his friend if Kolya didn’t really know him at all.

 

*

 

Vladislav's Groza bucked against his shoulder as he shot three rounds through the head of the last Freedom stalker. He knew that more would probably be on their way, so they would have to hurry up and get out of there.

“Squad, on me! General advance north!” he barked.

They marched up the sloped street with their guns raised to their shoulders. Some lone stalker had come through here when they’d been busily fighting the Freedom warriors, and apparently he’d been in no mood to deal with Monolithians. About ten corpses in urban camouflage and drab green bulletproof vests were strewn about, still clutching their guns. All had been shot through their heads.

“I’m thinking that it was probably that Marked guy who came through here,” Taktarov observed. “If he turned off the Brain Scorcher, ten fanatics wouldn’t be a problem for him.”

“He is a scary dude,” Kalugin agreed. “Good thing he’s more or less on our side. I wouldn’t want to meet him on unfriendly terms.”

“Yeah, but you can’t jump higher than your ass,” Vladislav reminded them. “Sooner or later, his good luck will run out.”

They found a metal gate at the top of the hill, and behind it was a fallen tree. Vladislav could see more road stretching behind it, and in the distance was Pripyat. Beyond that—Chernobyl itself, he knew. The center of the Zone. He began moving forward again.

 

*

 

The helicopter did not land.

The reason for this was the lunatic Monolithians. It wasn’t that they couldn’t have landed—mostly, it was because one fanatic stood on top of the Palace of Culture building and sported a rocket propelled grenade.

Anton was deafened by the impact of the rocket against the side of the helicopter. The right side of it crumpled inward and a grinding sensation shuddered through the crippled gunship. Then it started to fall.

Anton didn't know if anyone else was screaming, but he was. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt vertigo take hold of him, but he forced himself not to throw up inside his helmet. Even if he had, though, that would soon be the least of his worries. His hearing was starting to return somewhat, and he could hear other terrified voices raised besides his. Beyond that was the grinding of the wrecked rotor that tried but could no longer keep them airborne.

The helicopter impacted hard. Metal screeched horribly, making his teeth hurt, and a series of sharp cracks split the air. Then they fell again, but this time it was only a couple of meters. They impacted a second time, not as hard, and the helicopter stopped moving altogether. For many seconds they all sat, frozen, waiting for it to fall again. But after about a minute it became apparent that this wouldn’t happen, and they began pulling themselves frantically out of their restraints.

“Where do you think we landed?” one soldier womdered

“ _Bit v glubokoy zhopye,_ ” Kolya muttered.

Anton pulled his gun out from under his seat. He’d been on the left side, so the hatch he stood next to was perfectly intact. Looking around, he saw that one of them had been killed by the RPG impact; blood coated the inside of his helmet visor.

“We need to get out of here before we’re swarmed with fanatics,” Mikhail barked. “Vrokev, take Vetsyenchuk and Titenok and do a quick sweep of our left flank. Go.” The three Spetsnaz climbed out with their guns shouldered. “Nikolenko, I want you and Polyanin to follow them out and guard from the right side of the helicopter while the rest of us get out. Romanchuk, Kolya, on me. We’ll try and get Vsevolodsky out of there.”

[ _Captain, hostiles inbound. So-called Freedom faction, heavy equipment and scoped guns,_ ] said Titenok’s voice over his walkie-talkie.

“Take them out. We can’t afford them, we need to get out of here and slaughter those bastards in the Palace of Culture building. We also need to clean out the central Party building and retake the stadium.”

“You’re a captain now?” Anton said, looking at his old friend.

“Oh, yeah. They promoted me after you left.”

“The two aren’t related, I hope,” Anton said, helping Mikhail to wrestle the dead soldier out of his harness.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mikhail grunted, effort in his voice. “But I still can’t order you around. Because you… you know… you’re the same rank as me.”

They lay Vsevolodsky down on the floor, then rummaged his webbing.

“He had a lot of ammo. I always knew he was a thief,” Anton muttered.

“Alright. Nikolenko, are we clear?” Mikhail asked.

[ _No, captain. One hostile visible on the Palace of Culture building, but he_ _hasn’t engaged and doesn’t know we survived. But Freedom hostiles are_ _attempting to enter the grocery store on the left flank. Vrokev, Vetsyenchuk and_ _Titenok are holding them off. I think he said they number six headcount._ ]

“Good, that’s not too many. Tell him we’ll be over to help him out in a minute.”

Anton and Kolya climbed out of the helicopter first.

“So you’ve been lying to us this whole time,” Kolya said.

“Yes,” Anton admitted. “I did it because I knew Yavoshenko would have connections to the army and I didn’t want to get turned in.”

“For what?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Anton promised. He looked over his shoulder at Mikhail. “Kolya and I will give you sniper cover on the right.”

“Got it. Romanchuk and I are going to go help out the others. Nikolenko, Polyanin, you’re temporarily under the command of Captain Gorodyetsky,” Mikhail said, then began climbing the steps into the grocery store.

Anton had not heard his rank in a long time. He and Kolya also began climbing, and were able to scale some rubble onto the roof.

“So you’re Anton Gorodyetsky, huh?” Kolya said, peering through his scope. “Why did you pick Valik?”

“Ever heard of Valery Khodomchuk?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why.”

“Did you tell this to Kostik Ear, too?”

“Yes. No stalker but you knows my name, Kolya.”

“Alright then, Toshka. Spill. Why are you really here?”

Anton sighed and closed his eyes for a second. “I was married. We had a little girl, her name was Sofya. I was on a year-long tour here. When I got to go home on leave, I didn’t tell my wife because I wanted it to be a surprise. I got home and found her with someone else.”

“So you left her?”

“No. I still had all of my combat gear on me, so I pulled out my sidearm and emptied it into both of them because I was so angry. I left my flat, I went back to the outpost. Everyone was wondering why I was back so soon, so I made myself ‘disappear.’ But now I know that it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. Not because I killed two people like that, I don’t regret that part at all. But I don’t have any idea what happened to my daughter. I didn’t even see her when I got home. It’s been so long it seems, and she turned four last month.”

“Why don’t you go home and look for her?”

“Because I have no place to bring her. I have no home anymore. I don’t know if she’s even still in Chernigov.”

Anton stopped talking and scanned the ground briefly through his iron sights. Kolya was here to give sniper cover, and Anton was here to cover Kolya.

“You talked about being my friend when we were on our way to the Scorcher. I don’t know how you can say things like that to people when they don’t even know who you are,” Kolya said after a while.

Anton felt stung by this comment and didn’t say anything in reply. He knew that Kolya was right, and that made it even worse. He just stared into the grey Pripyat skyline, watching the occasional blue flash in a window or a streak of gunfire. He squinted at the blue flashes, not knowing what their origin was. Something about them made his spine prickle with unease.

[ _Captain Gorodyetsky,_ ] came Nikolenko’s voice over the walkie-talkie, and it took Anton a second to remember that that was him.

“Go ahead,” he said, pressing the button.

[ _We have incoming hostiles, Monolithian fanatics with a mix of Warsaw Pact and NATO firearms. Some are in exoskeleton model armor._ ]

“Dammit!” Anton said. “Do not fire unless fired upon, they are extremely dangerous.” He switched the channel. “Misha, lunatics inbound on the left flank, more than we can handle and heavily equipped.”

[ _How many and what type of firearms?_ ]

“Any kind you can think of. I’ll check how many.” He switched it back again.

“Nikolenko, what’s the headcount on those unknowns?”

[ _Ten or twelve, captain._ ]

Anton’s throat became dry and he struggled to talk after he switched to Mikhail’s channel.

“Nikolenko reports about a dozen or so,” he croaked.

[Blin! _We need that like we need teeth in our asses,_ ] Mikhail swore. [ _Are they firing on us?_ ]

“I don’t think so or Nikolenko wouldn’t be talking. How close are you to dealing with the Freedom stalkers?”

[ _Two left but they’ve taken cover and might be trying to maneuver. If we take them out quickly we may be able to extract in this direction without the hostiles on your side noticing us._ ]

“Misha they usually notice,” Anton said. “Trust me, I’ve fought these guys before. They’re insane and don’t stop until you or they are dead.”

[ _Standby,_ ] Mikhail said suddenly.

Anton switched back to the other channel. Kolya was staring at some flats in the distance through his scope.

“What do you see?” Anton asked.

“I’m not sure,” Kolya admitted. “I could swear it was the light from a Flash artifact like yours… but it came out of a gun! Or at least, it looked like it.”

“It looked like a Flash or it looked like a gun?”

“Both. I don’t know what the hell it is, but it’s scary. I just watched the lunatic holding it take out a chimera with one shot from the thing.”

[ _Contact!_ ] Nikolenko shouted over the walkie-talkie suddenly.

Anton rammed his thumb on the button. “Nikolenko, I want you and Polyanin to retreat slowly back in our direction. Kolya and I will cover you, draw them in.” He switched channels. “Misha, inbound hostiles, Nikolenko has contact. Possible unknown weaponry in the distance.”

[ _Shit. Hang on, I’ll be over in a second to try and help you out. We’re gunning_ _down the last Freedom stalker now._ ]

Anton didn’t know if his friend said any more—he could see the Monolithians now and began firing. His AS Val only made tiny clicking sounds as it fired, as opposed to the deafening crack from Kolya’s Dragunov SVU. For a moment Anton could only see one Spetsnaz retreating (he couldn’t tell which one it was). Then a burst from another fanatic caught him, blood sprayed from somewhere on his body, and he dropped. The other one was nowhere to be seen.

Mikhail clambered onto the roof and also began firing, his Dragunov rearing against his shoulder.

“What did I miss?”

“Polyanin and Nikolenko are down,” Anton said, spitting some more rounds at a lunatic’s head. “How are the others?”

“Still somewhat disoriented by the crash.”

“Then we should go. We’ll just get killed.”

Without another word the three of them climbed off the roof and met with Romanchuk, who had been sitting behind the wreck waiting in case Nikolenko and Polyanin had seen the need to fall back.

“Let’s go, corporal,” Mikhail said to him. Into his walkie-talkie: “Vrokev, we’re moving out, have Vetsyenchuk and Titenok pack in. Hostiles inbound, we need to move fast.”

They ducked quickly through the department store, which had an alarming level of radiation inside it. On the other side three Spetsnaz sat behind the lip of the walk on the outside of the building, one with a PKM machine gun and one with a Groza and the grenade launcher readied.

“Let’s go, grunts! General advance east, and we’ll circle around to the Palace of Culture building. Right now we’re in a bad spot with inbound hostiles. Move!” Mikhail barked.

The three of them hurried down off the walk and they began moving up the unfamiliar streets. Kolya took the rear, looking at the roofs of buildings with his scope. From across the dead city of Pripyat, distant gunfire reached Anton’s ears through his helmet, as well as the howls of mutants.

They turned left. The street they were now on was one of the main ones and would be crawling with Monolithians. It was not an advantageous place to be, and Anton could see a distant loner in a SEVA suit with a Groza who was slaughtering his way through. Bullets traded between him and the Monolithians, and then he was moving forward again, heading north towards the power station.

“How does he do it?” Anton muttered, realizing that this was probably the same one who’d shut down the Brain Scorcher.

“Who?”

“That guy, Myechyeniy. He turned off the Scorcher and now he’s butchering the lunatics like pigs.”

“Good for him,” Mikhail said dismissively. “Titenok, mount on those pipes. Vetsyenchuk, Vrokev, you two sit behind those… whatever the hell those things over there are. Romanchuk, on me.”

“Why are we setting up here, captain?” the one that Anton guessed was Vrokev asked.

“Because the lunatics saw us and are probably coming our way,” Mikhail answered.

He and Kolya sat in the back. Kolya had a reserved air about him, and Anton knew that he probably felt somewhat betrayed. He couldn’t think about that now, though—Mikhail’s assumption was correct and the Monolithians were coming from around the corner of the street. Immediately, Titenok opened up with his machine gun. Anton aimed for the head of one but hit the warrior’s neck instead. Blood sprayed from his torn arteries but he didn’t stop shooting until he collapsed from blood loss.

“They just won’t die!” Romanchuk shouted, frustration saturating his voice.

“I told you, aim for their heads!” Anton yelled back over the roar of the machine gun.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EAT THAT, YOU COCK-SUCKING BASTARDS!” Vetsyenchuk shouted triumphantly as three dead Monolithians were blown backwards by his VOG-25.

**_BDAM! BDAM! BDAM!_ **

The sniper rifles held by Mikhail and Kolya bucked against their shoulders as the powerful rounds dispensed into the lunatic warriors. Anton clacked a fresh magazine into place and resumed firing on them. Essentially, they were locked in a stalemate—the Monolithians were seemingly invincible, but the Spetsnaz were behind solid cover.

 _Damn, I wish we had Vladik’s Groza_ , Anton couldn’t help but think.

Surprisingly, his wish was immediately granted.

Out of nowhere came the Duty squad, their exoskeletons battered but more or less in one piece. Their thick Kevlar afforded them all the cover they needed from the Monolithians’ guns and their own powerful assault rifles shredded the fanatics until they were practically nothing but blood and chunks. Anton looked at this for a second, then watched the Spetsnaz squad all raise their guns. Titenok, whose primary weapon was a cumbersome machine-gun that he hadn’t unmounted yet, was holding his pistol.

Anton turned and saw that the Duty soldiers were also pointing their guns. Kolya and Yavoshenko were leveled at each other, which he was definitely not surprised by.

“We were here first, deserters,” Mikhail spat. “Get out of Pripyat. We’re on our way to secure a route to the center of the Zone so that the government can-”

“Fuck everything up like they always do,” Kalugin interrupted. “The Zone is a tumor that we gotta destroy at all costs.”

“Misha, Vladik, come on, there’s Monolithians everywhere! We can’t stand here stupidly like this all day!” Anton protested.

“We’ll stand here as long as it takes,” Yavoshenko growled.

“Look, you’re all idiots!” Anton shouted. “We don’t need to do this! Basically, you both are in charge of squads with the same goal and I know that Duty collaborates with the military more often than they say they do. The lunatics that fill this place are after all of our asses, and we have to get it in gear if we’re going to make it past them. So if you can stop thinking with your asses and start using your brains, we can each go a separate way, clean out this hell-hole and meet back at the football stadium so we kill each other then. Okay?”

Everyone looked at each other, then at him, and one by one they all lowered their guns.

“Okay. Now that we’re done with that for the moment, what do we do if you’re so smart, Valik?” Yavoshenko demanded.

“What’s this with everyone calling you Valik?” Mikhail asked him.

Anton suddenly felt stuck, like he’d been caught in his own trap. “Look, I’ll explain everything later, I promise.” This was meant for both of them; to Yavoshenko specifically, he said “My name is Anton Gorodyetsky. You should stop calling me Valik.”

“Wait,” Yavoshenko said, his voice surprised. “You’re Captain Gorodyetsky?”

“Yeah. So?”

“You’re legendary! Kostik Ear had every right to give you the callsign he did! Everyone in my faction knows you for your skill in an anomaly field!”

Behind the lenses of Yavoshenko’s gas mask Anton could see awe in his dark brown eyes. All of the Duty stalkers were now staring.

“Look, I don’t know what you were told, Vladik, but whatever it is, I guarantee you that it’s a load of shit. It’s not even a skill, it’s luck. I crawled out of a Vortex half-dead with all of my muscles wrenched and both shoulders dislocated. I want to debunk that right now.”

They all looked at each other and muttered things he couldn’t hear.

“Back to the first question, Sergeant Yavoshenko is right,” Taktarov said. “Now what?”

“The quickest route to the football stadium is through the underground car-park,” Mikhail said slowly. “You can go that way. We’ll be circling around, checking the Hotel Polissya, the Party building and the Palace of Culture building. Those are our objectives so that another force can come through and take the power station.”

“What is so important about the power plant?” asked Kolya.

Everyone stared at him and he almost visibly shrank with discomfort.

“The Wish Granter,” Anton said.

“The ability to destroy the Zone,” Yavoshenko grunted.

“A staging ground for the Ukrainian government to regain control over this area,” Mikhail countered.

“In short, it’s a very important place for many reasons,” Anton explained. “And besides, you might find a Soul there.”

Kolya seemed to perk up a little at that. “Okay then. Let’s go butcher some lunatics.”

“How do we get to the car-park?” asked Yavoshenko, addressing Mikhail.

“Go up the street in the direction that I’m currently facing. Take a left at the kindergarten and then another left and a right before the bus stop. It’ll be right there. But don’t go through the bus stop, it’s an open area and most likely a death trap.”

“What’s on the other side?”

“All of my squad’s objectives,” Mikhail said. “Like I told you, it’s the quickest way to the football stadium.”

Yavoshenko just looked at him for a long time, then turned his men around and began marching them up the street. Anton turned back to his old friend.

“Why are you sending them that way?” he asked, suspicious.

“They won’t be in our way,” Mikhail shrugged. “Titenok, pack in. We’re going back through the grocery store and taking the Party building from the back.”

“We’ll have to go by the bus stop, sir. It’s an open area” Vrokev said.

“I know, but we’ll have to take that risk. Besides, we just killed a dozen fanatics and the Zone can’t really be populated that much. There can’t be that many of them left.”


	13. Unknown Weaponry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton is healed by Mikhail's miracle.

Vladislav led his squad up the street towards the kindergarten. Monolithian corpses were a fairly common sight; clearly someone had been here first. Hopefully it was only Myechyeniy—if it was Freedom stalkers doing this much damage, Vladislav would have to tell General Voronin to reassess their foes’ abilities as combatants.

“Move your asses,” he said over his shoulder. “We’re close, now.”

They rounded the corner and immediately stopped. Vladislav saw that even if they wanted to, they couldn’t have gone to the bus stop—the street was blocked by a clog of buzzing Electro anomalies. A stalker in a SEVA suit could usually pass through unharmed, but in their metal-riddled exoskeletons, the Dutyers would get fried.

They advanced cautiously into the underground car park. Vladislav clicked on his night-vision; it was terrible, but, unlike his headlamp, it wouldn’t give him away instantly. He looked around carefully, holding his trusty Groza to his shoulder.

Strangely, he found himself wishing that Kolya was there. The loner would have easily picked up anything dangerous before even entering this place—without him, Vladislav would find out the hard way if there was.

The car park was clogged with destroyed vehicles. Crumpled among them were corpses, most in Monolithian fatigues but a couple in grey exoskeletons that indicated loners. Then, at the exit to the car park, about midway on the up-slope, was a pile of dead stalkers, perhaps three or four. There was little blood, and Vladislav could see no indication of mutant assault or conventional weapons, just neat holes between their eyes, all the way through, like a drill had bored there.

This sent a chill up his spine. He looked at his soldiers, who all had an uneasy look in their posture and stance. They didn’t like it any more than he did.

“Taktarov, on me. The rest of you, stay put.”

Moving at a crouch so that they could see as far up the exit as possible, they crept along the right wall until they were in the cover of a demolished truck. Vladislav looked around through the sight on his Groza, but didn’t really see anything except more wreckage at the street level. Looking behind him to tell the rest of the squad to move up, it was then that he saw the holes in the pavement. They were at the right angle and place that they were obviously the bullets that had taken out the stalkers, and if he could follow the angle… Following the imaginary route, his eyes landed on a tall building directly across from the exit to the car park.

Vladislav’s eyes widened behind his gas mask, and in a split second after he saw what was obviously a person sitting up there, he grabbed Taktarov’s shoulder and threw them both onto their bellies on the ground.

“What is it?” whispered the other soldier.

“A sniper,” Vladislav answered.

Very slowly, he raised his head. There was no noise, and nothing went whistling by his head. Squinting, he realized that the man on top of the building must have been asleep at his post. He pulled out his binoculars and zoomed in as far as he could. The sniper was not asleep—he was dead, or at least it appeared that way by his slumped posture and the blood splattered across the lip of the roof.

“Hm. He’s dead. Squad, move up, full alert,” he barked, then shouldered his gun again and stood up.

As it turned out, all of the Monolithians in the immediate vicinity had been killed. Vladislav was becoming unnerved. Something had come through here and cleaned them out as easily as one might sweep dust balls from under a bed. From his bitterly-earned experience fighting the lunatics, he knew that whatever it was had to be dangerous.

“That’s the hotel,” Corporal Kalugin said, nodding.

“Yup,” Vladislav agreed. “Let’s go see if they got nice rooms.”

 

*

 

Anton slept fitfully and was tired when he woke up in the morning. He sat up slowly, wincing because he’d rolled onto his bad side, and through the window he saw rain pouring down.

Mikhail had picked one of the more intact apartment buildings to hole up in through the night, so they were fairly comfortable. Anton had even gotten the least destroyed of two old mattresses that they’d found because he was injured. Even so, nothing was comfortable to sleep on with his wound and he groaned as he climbed to his feet. Kolya, who was standing in the window with his Dragunov SVU shouldered, glanced at him.

“Bad sleep?” he asked.

“You have no idea,” Anton agreed, stepping into his boots and sitting to tie them because it hurt to bend over.

“Well, if the lunatics know we’re here, they don’t care. I haven’t seen any in a while,” Kolya said. “I noticed one or two go by on the street below, but they were just patrolling and I didn’t want to give us away, so they’re still alive for now.”

“You stayed up all night? How?” Anton asked before pulling on his face mask and helmet.

“Energy drinks and this weird green and yellow drug. I’m not tired at all, but they did make me a little nauseous when I took them. I hope I’m not allergic.”

Vetsyenchuk was standing guard when Anton, Kolya, Titenok and Vrokev came out of the apartment they’d temporarily inhabited. Mikhail and Romanchuk met with them in the stairwell.

“Alright, we should check out the Party building because we’re right next to it,” Mikhail decided.

“I should stay up here for a few minutes and give you sniper cover until you’re all out,” Kolya said. “It’ll be harder for anything to ambush you.”

“Good idea,” Mikhail nodded. “Vetsyenchuk, cover him. Everyone else, on me.”

Anton clapped Kolya on the shoulder in a show of support, then followed Mikhail down the stairs. Halfway down, Anton stopped and leaned on the wall, breathing irregularly because he was in pain.

“Are you okay?” Mikhail asked, looking at him.

“I’m fine, Misha. Just out of breath,” he lied.

“Okay, then,” Mikhail muttered.

Anton sucked in a deep breath and continued. There was another set of stairs, but it was small and would take them to the ground level. Outside Anton heard three sharp cracks and an explosion as Vetsyenchuk and Kolya attacked something outside.

“Vetsyenchuk, report,” Mikhail said into his walkie-talkie a few moments after it stopped.

[ _A couple of zombies, captain. Nothing big._ ]

“Zombies or zombified stalkers?”

[ _Zombies. They shouldn’t bother you._ ]

“Okay. We’re exiting the building now. Don’t shoot,” Mikhail said, then they came out of the apartment building.

Three dead civilian zombies lay across the street, their heads no longer existent and their bodies all but pulp. Anton glanced around quickly through his iron sights, but no danger revealed itself. Even so, he got a crawling feeling in his gut. The last time he remembered feeling like this was outside the village. He couldn’t believe it had only been about a week since he’d been there; it seemed like someone else’s lifetime, now.

Sighing, he shook his head at himself and watched Mikhail lay out the plan for clearing the Party building.

“…and we should meet minimal resistance if we’re quiet, so if you can, sneak up behind them and stab them. Vetsyenchuk, Titenok, you two guard our entrance, you’ll be next to useless inside. Romanchuk, Vrokev, take the first floor. Anton and I will take the second floor and we’ll meet on the opposite side. Kolya, I would greatly appreciate it if you gave Vetsyenchuk and Titenok some sniper cover,” Mikhail said, looking at where Kolya was emerging.

“Okay,” Kolya agreed. “I’ll take one of the apartments facing them.”

“Everyone set your walkies to channel 3,” Mikhail said.

They took a second to check and make sure they were on the right line, then they went their separate ways as ordered. Anton followed Mikhail with his AS Val shouldered and they entered the building by kicking in the door.

“So what are you going to do after we’re done here?” Mikhail asked.

“I don’t know,” Anton admitted as they began climbing the stairs. “I have to go back to Chernigov somehow. I left my little girl there.”

He slowed down as they climbed and had to stop on the landing. His breaths sawed from his mask.

“Toshka something is really wrong with you. What is it?” Mikhail asked, stopping as well.

“It’s really nothing, Misha,” Anton insisted.

“Don’t bullshit me.” Mikhail wasn’t buying it.

“Look, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Okay, so a few days ago, I got shot by a merc. I got lucky and it didn’t go in too far, but it hurts to move too vigorously and I need to be careful so I don’t pop my stitches.”

“Show me,” Mikhail demanded.

Anton pulled off his SKAT suit and lifted up his fatigue jacket and white undershirt to show a bandage wrapping his lower torso. Mikhail in turn pulled out his Soul artifact, which Anton had completely forgotten about until now.

“It works best if you hold it right next to the wound,” Mikhail advised, handing it to Anton.

Anton sat down on the landing and pressed the artifact gently against his side. Immediately a soothing warmth spread through him, centralized at the area of his belt where the Soul was. It took about four minutes for the pain and discomfort to disappear, and after a moment he looked under his bandage. To his amazement and awe, the wound was completely gone, save for a hideous scar.

“Wow. No wonder Kolya is so desperate to find one,” Anton remarked, removing the bandage and pulling his armor back on.

“Alright,” Mikhail said, taking back the artifact as Anton pulled his gear back on. “Let’s go kill some lunatics.”

They cautiously went the rest of the way up the stairs. Once they determined the hall was clear, they advanced slowly. Anton strained his ears for any sounds not made by them, but he heard nothing. Strangely, a Monolithian making noise would have been welcome right then—the silence was much more unnerving.

[ _Captain Zhakirovsky, this is Sergeant Vrokev. I’ve cleared the first floor. There’s nothing here, not even rats._ ]

“Nothing at all?” Mikhail said.

[ _Nothing, sir. But the exit on that side leads to an open area and I count at least one sniper. We’re with Titenok and Vetsyenchuk._ ]

“Good call, sergeant. Send Romanchuk to get Kolya and I’ll look at the open space.” He clipped his walkie-talkie back onto his belt and looked at Anton. “Cover me.”

They stalked to the end of the hall. On Anton’s right was a window, and he could see the open space that Vrokev and been talking about. In front of the Palace of Culture building was a long footwalk, which ended in a curve next to the  Hotel Polissya. Anton could not see any snipers, or for that matter any Monolithians at all.

“I don’t see anything, Misha. Maybe Vrokev was wrong,” Anton said, keeping his voice down in case the Monolithians were nearby after all.

“Look at the far corner,” Mikhail whispered, pointing briefly before staring through his scope. “I see him, he’s there. But do I want to give away my position…?”

“We have to take them out sometime,” Anton said.

“Hang on, let me think about this… if we can get into the Palace of Culture building from the back, we can get the snipers that way. Titenok could probably set up behind us in case anyone tried to follow, and Kolya and I could cover from the hotel. Which means that you, Vetsyenchuk, Vrokev and Romanchuk could go in and force them out to where we can get them in the open.”

“Maybe. If they’re smart enough to retreat. Monolithians are crazy. They don’t care if they die,” Anton said.

Mikhail didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“Can you think of something better?”

“No.”

“Alright, then.”

They went back to the entrance they’d come in through.

“What’s the plan, sir?” asked Vrokev.

“There is at least one sniper in the Palace of Culture building that we need to get rid of. We’re going to move around the back of the building, between it and the football stadium. Kolya and I will provide sniper cover from the Hotel Polissya and Captain Gorodyetsky will take Vrokev, Vetsyenchuk and Romanchuk in. Titenok will set up at their entry point in case anyone tries to follow them. Everyone is to remain on channel 3. Let’s go.”

They moved up the street in the back. Anton’s feeling of creeping dread grew worse with every step he took, and he knew it had something to do with the world around him.

A bright blue light like his Flash artifact whooshed by his head suddenly. It passed through Romanchuk’s head just above his ear at a sharp angle and into Titenok’s side. Both men dropped instantly, but Anton did not understand why; there was no blood that he could see. Except that Titenok was howling, he didn’t think they were injured.

“Shit! Oh, shit! Back, get back!” Vrokev shouted.

Mikhail and Anton grabbed Titenok and Romanchuk and hauled them back around the corner of the street to the cover of the Party building.

“What the hell was that and where did it come from!?!” Mikhail barked.

“I don’t know, get Titenok’s helmet off and I’ll look at Romanchuk,” Anton said.

He pulled the soldier’s helmet and facemask from his head. In the left side of Romanchuk’s skull, just above the ear where the blue light had gone through, a tidy hole was present, as though someone had bored it with a drill. Surprisingly, there was very little blood, but he was still obviously dead. Even so, Anton wasn’t disturbed by this as much as he was by the fact that whatever projectile had caused this had gone through both sides of his skull and his Kevlar helmet and still had enough punch to injure the machine-gunner.

“I have no idea what this is,” he said, moving to look at Titenok. “Whatever it was went through three layers of Kevlar and a skull and still hit him.”

“I don’t care what it is! Just get it out!” Titenok howled.

“Get him into the Party building. I can’t work in the rain” Anton ordered.

While Vetsyenchuk and Vrokev carried Titenok into the building, Anton scavenged ammunition off of Romanchuk. It was heavy, but he’d probably need it later assuming he survived long enough to use it. He went into the building as well and Titenok was set on a table after Kolya cleared some dust off of it.

“Get his suit off of him, and any shirts or jackets,” Anton said. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He pulled his blue box out of his web-gear and set it on another table nearby after also wiping away dust. He took off the camouflage gloves that went with his SKAT suit and pulled on a set of latex gloves, then went over to look.

“What can we do to help, Captain?” asked Vrokev.

“You can brace his legs. Hold them down just above his knees. Misha, you’re pretty big, brace his shoulders against the table. This way he can’t squirm and hurt himself worse. And I need someone to loan me a bullet, the bigger the better.”

“Here,” Kolya said. “These are pretty big.”

Anton took the Dragunov round from him and had Titenok bite down on it. “This is going to hurt a lot,” he warned, then he bent down and looked at the wound.

Like Romanchuk’s head wound, it was a perfectly round hole, but this time Anton couldn’t see through it. He turned on the light mounted to his helmet so that he could see better and grinned when he found the bullet. It was embedded in the muscles in Titenok’s flank, so it wasn’t very deep, but it definitely looked painful.

“Oh, wow. Good news, Titenok. It’s not as bad as it looks. It’s going to be really uncomfortable to lean to your left for a while, though.”

He went back to his box and grabbed his tweezers, then carefully reached in and got hold of the bullet. Titenok whimpered through his mouthful of bullet, and then another muffled scream came when Anton pulled it out. He had to do it slowly so that he wouldn’t damage the adjacent tissues, so Titenok’s agony was prolonged, but it was necessary.

“So what now?” Mikhail asked when Anton dropped the bullet into his hand.

“Hmm… Look at this.” He held it up. “This round is 2mm standard steel core. It’s not even a sniper round. But it still went all the way through Romanchuk’s skull and helmet, and then Titenok’s suit. And there’s no blood. And the blue light…”

“What do you think the weapon was that fired it?” Mikhail asked.

Anton shook his head.

“I don’t have clue,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“I saw a Monolithian take out a chimera in one shot with a gun that had the same kind of blue stream,” Kolya said helpfully. “So these guns are obviously very powerful.”

“Obviously,” Mikhail agreed. “But we still don’t know what they are.”


	14. Palace Of Culture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vladislav is forced to contact the Spetsnaz when his squad is almost completely obliterated, and Anton gets his hands on a Monolith weapon with great difficulty.

Vladislav was incredibly tired from taking two of the watches, and he wished he’d had someone else take the last one. But he was the leader, and the leader had to lead.

“We’ll go out the same way that we came in, then we’ll turn around and head in the opposite direction,” he decided. “Taktarov, take up the rear. Kalugin, you’re left flank. Zalikev, you’re right flank. I’ll take point.”

They exited the hotel. Vladislav led them around the corner of the building and he could see the Ferris Wheel and the bumper cars up ahead, with yet more apartment buildings in the background. Beyond that was the football stadium. Vladislav had no doubt that the Spetsnaz were already there, cleaning it out. He didn’t care. As long as there was a path to the power station, it didn’t matter who made it.

They began making their way along the back, heading in the direction of the Party building along the rear wall of the Palace of Culture building.

“Brothers! The savages approach!” someone screamed suddenly, and, also suddenly, they were being fired upon.

“Take cover!” Vladislav shouted, and only as he said it did he realize that there was no cover to be had. “Advance to the stadium!”

They picked up the pace. Even so, they were very exposed and there wasn’t really anything they could do about it. Goryovin took an assault rifle magazine to his back and was left behind, and Kalugin was shot through his head by some kind of blue flash. Only four of them made it to the stadium.

“Vasilyevsky, you see anything?” he asked, looking through his iron sights.

“Uh… hang on,” Vasilyevsky said, also looking around. Vladislav looked at him just in time to see terror enter his stance. “OH SHIT!” he shouted.

A second later something exploded violently on the wall above them. Vladislav was knocked to the ground when large chunks of concrete fell on his head and shoulders, and one of the lenses of his gas mask cracked when he landed on his face. His vision blacked for a minute, and when it returned it was blurred.

“Ohhh…” someone close by moaned; he couldn’t distinguish the voice.

Grimacing because his broken ribs had been jarred, Vladislav pushed some of the concrete chunks away and slowly climbed to his knees. Dust and more concrete fell from his back and shoulders as he moved, and his black camouflage suit was turned grey from the dust.

“Squad, report,” he growled quietly, laying back down so that any nearby enemies wouldn’t consider him a threat.

The only response he got was another moan. He turned his head in several directions and when he didn’t see anything hostile he got up again, slowly. Crawling so he wouldn’t attract attention, he went over to Taktarov and prodded him with his fingers. When Taktarov didn’t respond, Vladislav slowly rolled him over. He made a note that his head moved far too easily, especially with the thick material over his neck; his spine must have been broken there.

Vasilyevsky was also dead—his skull seemed like it had been fractured, because his helmet was crumpled inward and blood dripped out of the filters of his gas mask. This left Zalikev. Vladislav discovered that one of Zalikev’s legs had been broken badly.

“We failed,” Zalikev moaned.

“Not yet, there’s still us,” Vladislav insisted, hoisting Zalikev onto his shoulders and standing. “Besides, you gotta find some nice shit to sell so you can go back to Zhitomir.”

Picking up both of their Grozas, he went backwards somewhat, working his way along the apartment buildings so that whoever had the blue-firing rifle couldn't shoot at them again. The Monolithians were still clustered at the back of the Palace of Culture building, but they didn’t appear to notice and Vladislav wasn’t stupid enough to shoot at them now.

He carried Zalikev back into the Hotel Polissya. There was really nothing he could do about this injury—his medical skill was limited to being able to bandage wounds, and even if this hadn’t been the case there was nothing he could splint Zalikev’s leg with. There was only one thing he could do: try his walkie-talkie and pray that Anton was feeling merciful. Unfortunately he didn’t exactly know which channel they were on. He started at channel 1.

“Captain Gorodyetsky, come in. This is Sergeant Yavoshenko.” Static. “Captain Gorodyetsky, come in.” More static; channel 2. “Captain Gorodyetsky, respond if you get this, this is Sergeant Yavoshenko.” Static. He sighed and clicked it to channel 3. “Captain Gorodyetsky, do you read? This is Sergeant Yavoshenko.”

[ _What do you want, Vladislav?_ ] sighed Anton’s voice.

“My squad got ambushed by Monolithians. Everyone’s dead except me and Zalikev, and he’s got a broken leg. Can you help us?”

[ _Why should I do that?_ ]

“Please, Valik!” Vladislav said automatically without thinking.

There was static for many moments and Vladislav was beginning to think that he wasn’t listening anymore.

[ _Take back everything you said to Kolya._ ]

“Okay, I take it back.”

[ _You have to mean it._ ]

“I do mean it.”

[ _Are you sure?_ ]

“Yes! God dammit, I don’t have time for this!”

[ _You don’t sound like you mean it to me._ ]

“Well I do,” Vladislav insisted.

[ _Hmm… I’m still not sure._ ]

“YOU’RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE!” Vladislav screamed, frustrated.

[ _Yes, probably. Apologize to Kolya._ ]

“WHAT!?!”

[ _I won’t help you if you don’t._ ]

“Alright fine! I’m sorry!”

[ _I haven’t even put him on the line yet,_ ] Anton said.

Vladislav ground his teeth.

[ _Well, Yavoshenko? I’m waiting,_ ] came Kolya’s voice.

Vladislav took a deep breath and with great difficulty forced himself to swallow his pride.

“Kolya, I am sorry,” he said, then, less calmly, added “Now tell Anton to get his skinny ass over here!”

There was collective laughter over the walkie-talkie and then static. Vladislav clipped it back onto his belt and had to sit and wait for many minutes. When he’d started thinking that Anton wouldn’t come at all, the ex-Spetsnaz appeared, along with a current Spetsnaz who held a Groza.

“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing.

“Private Polikarp Vetsyenchuk,” the Spetsnaz answered.

“So Zalikev, what did you do to your leg?” Anton asked.

“An RPG blew up a wall and some concrete fell on it,” Zalikev groaned.

“Ouch. I need you to take off your suit.”

Yavoshenko watched Zalikev struggle out of his exoskeleton with Anton’s help.

“It’s broken, ain’t it?” he asked.

“Um… yes and no… it’s a crush fracture, which is worse than a regular break.”

“So we can’t get him out of here?” Vladislav guessed.

“Basically, yes. Unless you happen to have an ambulance laying around in that webbing of yours,” Anton said dryly.

“I won’t leave him here. He’s the last member of my squad left alive.”

“And you need him to testify that you didn’t just kill your men yourself when you get back?” guessed Vetsyenchuk.

“Well, yeah, that too,” Vladislav admitted. “But I mean… they’re on my head…”

“At least you place value on someone’s life besides your own,” Anton muttered.

Vladislav pretended not to hear him. “What can we do about this?”

“It was hard enough for me and Vetsyenchuk to get here unnoticed,” Anton admitted. “Even if it was just you we tried to lead back, we’d be caught. If we try to carry him, whoever has him will be unarmed. And that building is swarming with Monolithians inside and out.”

“Well, then what? We ain’t going around the back, there’s some blue-firing gun and about twenty lunatics in exoskeletons with G36 rifles and AP rounds,” Vladislav said.

“Oh, you ran into it, too?” Anton said. “It went through three layers of Kevlar and a skull and still went into the side of our machine-gunner. We tried to heal it with a Soul artifact and discovered that that only works with conventional bullet wounds. And look-” He pulled out a 2mm bullet. “-it’s only this big.”

Vladislav stared at this puny object. He wouldn’t have believed it was so powerful if he hadn’t seen it in action with his own eyes.

“Fuck me,” he whispered. “How are we gonna beat them if they got weapons like this? They’re too fucking tough already!”

“We’ll have to find one of these rifles and experiment with it,” Anton said.

“Kolya seems to know a lot about guns, maybe he can figure out how they made it this powerful. So if we can get one, we can give it to him to look at.”

“Yeah, but how do we get one?” wondered Vetsyenchuk.

A light bulb went off in Vladislav’s head.

“There’s a dead guy up on the roof,” he said. “And a bunch of loners all bought it from his gun, I bet it was the same one. If we can get to him, he’ll have one.”

“Alright, then. Vetsyenchuk, stay here with Zalikev. No VOG-25s in here, though, you’ll collapse the whole building,” Anton ordered, then he and Vladislav left the hotel room and went to the stairs.

 

*

 

“Oh, well that's fucking perfect,” Yavoshenko muttered sarcastically.

The staircase was blocked by rubble and furniture. Only a narrow gap under the ceiling was visible. Anton briefly thought about the fire escape ladder on the outside of the building, but immediately knew it was too exposed and he’d be killed by the Monolithians.

“Vladik, we both know that you won’t fit through there, even without your armor.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’ll see if I can get through. Cover me,” Anton said.

He carefully climbed up the stack of debris that was piled on the stairs. Scrunching his shoulders as much as he could and breathing out so his chest would be narrower, he reached his arms in first so he could pull himself in. Judging by the amount of debris and the fact that he was smaller than average and still having a hard time getting through, he guessed that the Monolithians probably didn’t inhabit this particular floor.

“Vladik, pass my gun up,” he called, reaching his arm back through.

The textured grip of his AS Val was pressed into his palm and he clasped his fingers around it, pulling it through as well. Checking the magazine as he stood up, he began walking down the empty hall, his boots kicking up radioactive dust. Many of the windows were broken, letting the rain in, and he wiped droplets off of his helmet visor. It was a desolate, lonely place, and he felt chills go up his spine as he walked through it. It seemed like the spirits of residents who’d died were here and conveying their sadness to him about having been uprooted from their home, never to see it again. He shuddered at the thought.

A clicking sound made him stop and fear ran through him. If even Monolithians had no access to this area, what was here that made noise? Plague rats? He shouldered his gun and wished that Kolya was here; he had no way of knowing if there really was a threat nearby or his jumpiness was getting the better of him.

Wiping more rain off of his lenses, he moved forward slowly, wishing he could hear better. But it was pouring outside and all he could hear was the drumbeat of water on pavement and roofs and, faintly, the continuation of the infernal clicking sound. Aside from these, his Geiger counter also sounded off every time he took a step, which was distracting.

Anton turned a corner—and they all turned and looked at him, all two dozen of them. The bones were picked clean and sun-bleached, and there was nothing but bones, no eyes in the sockets or leftover clothing. They stood there looking at him, and he looked at them, not really sure what was happening. Behind them were two dead Monolithian warriors who had obviously been there for a long time, their Grozas still clutched in their fingers. A stain that had probably come from blood sporadically marked the parquet floor, and their uniforms were torn and ripped them apart. No wonder this area was blocked off.

When they raised their claw-like hands and started shuffling towards him, the trance was broken, and he began shooting. All twenty rounds in his magazine pumped into them, splintering ribs and punching through shoulder blades. But, like Monolithians, they ignored this and kept coming. Anton began backing up, loading a fresh magazine into his assault rifle and then firing again. He wasn’t really sure that this was having any effect—they had no flesh to injure or organs that could suffer trauma.

Resolving himself to the fact that he was probably about to die, he continued firing and backing up, even though it seemed useless to shoot them.

_Click!_

Anton’s AS Val stopped firing. He pulled out the magazine and looked, but there were still rounds in it. Putting it back in, he pulled back the slide and squeezed the trigger. Click! Panicking, he ripped the magazine out and put in a new one, but to no effect. Slinging his gun over his shoulder and walking more quickly now, Anton took his pistol out of its holster on his leg, clicked off the safety and began firing.

Anton didn’t really know why—if an assault rifle wasn’t hurting them, what good would a sidearm do? Suddenly he stopped and realized his back was touching the wall. Looking around frantically, he saw the stairs and began going up again, sliding a fresh magazine into his pistol.

He became more unnerved when he saw a trail of blood going up the stairs like something had been wounded and was dragged, too much blood for someone to lose. At the landing on the next floor was another dead Monolithian, also having been there for an extended period of time, with holes clawed through his front. Rain sprayed in through an open window near the stairwell, soaking the old corpse and beading up on Anton’s SKAT armor.

A few meters down the hall was a fourth body, also from the Monolith faction, ripped to shreds and surrounded by hundreds of empty shell casings. Blood spattered the walls and floor of the hall, and though there were countless expended rounds there were only a few dead skeletons, their skulls punched in by large 9X39mm bullets.

Anton pulled his walkie-talkie off of his web-belt. “Vladik, there’s something you should really know about this place,” he said, turning and hurrying up more stairs as he talked.

[ _What?_ ]

“It’s full of skeletons that chase you. I don’t know what makes them do that or why, but they’re tough enough that they’ve taken down at least four lunatics, and it looks like a long time ago. So there really was a reason for those barricades.”

[ _Are you being chased?_ ]

“Yes, and my rifle doesn’t work anymore. If I can get to the roof, I’ll let you know, but it’s looking like I won’t be able to get back down once I’m up there.”

[ _Can you fight them without your gun?_ ]

“Not really, no. I have plenty of ammo and no way to fire it.”

[ _What are you going to do?_ ]

“If I knew that, I’d be doing it!” Anton snapped, fear making him frustrated.

He climbed and climbed until he reached the top of the stairs. Pushing the door in front of him open, he raised his eyebrows when he found that he was on the roof. Closing it behind him and using his now-useless gun to bar the door, he walked over to the edge and looked out at the city before him. He couldn’t see very far because the rain was coming down in sheets now, but even so, it was a staggering view.

Shaking his head, Anton went over to the corpse. This man had died recently, shot through his head. Gripped in his black-gloved hand was an ugly black rifle with a small magazine and apparently a NATO-issue SUSAT scope. Prizing it from the corpse’s grasp, Anton looked it over. Wires protruded from the body of the gun at various angles, and its ammo capacity was small.

“So this is the thing that caused all the damage?” he wondered, fingering it.

Raising the scope to his eye, he was amazed by the zoom and the quality of the sight itself. It even had night-vision. Slinging it over his shoulder, he rummaged the body and found two extra magazines for the gun and some pistol mags that matched his Fora.

“Misha, I have one of their blue-firing weapons,” he said into his walkie-talkie.

[ _Good! Where’d you get it? I thought you were helping the Duty guy._ ]

“I was, but then we realized that there was one laying around up here on the roof. I have three magazines for it but my assault rifle doesn’t work and… you’re not gonna believe this, but I’m being chased by skeletons that can take down Monolithians.”

[ _Um… okay then… well, are you injured?_ ]

“No, but I think I’m going to need some help getting out of here. The staircases are blocked. There’s a little gap and I was able to squeeze through, but I’m not getting out on my own, there’s at least two dozen of the things. They’re slow, though, so I at least have that going for me. Who’s your skinniest soldier?”

[ _Uh… Vetsyenchuk, and he’s already with you._ ]

“Alright. I’ll let you know if I’m able to get out alive.”

[ _Good luck, Toshka._ ]

Anton clipped his walkie-talkie to his belt and pulled his gun out of the door handles. Cautiously he opened them, then, when he didn’t see anything dangerous, he began climbing down the stairs. What he really needed to do was find one of those dead Monolithians and pick up his Groza… assuming that any of them still worked, considering they’d been sitting there since who knew when under broken windows.

Anton wanted to sigh in frustration but he knew the noise would attract the attention of anything nearby. That just made him even more frustrated.

Creeping down the stairs, he slipped into a hallway and heard his Geiger counter spike from the dust. Up ahead was the same corpse as before, surrounded by expended rounds and empty magazines. Wait… empty magazines. That was perfect; the AS Val and the Groza both took the same rounds, but before now it had not occurred to him that his current magazines would not be the right shape to fit into a Groza.

Scooping them up and stuffing them into a pocket in his webbing, he picked up the Groza and hurried as quietly as he could back onto the roof, which he could block the way to and make a temporary safe haven.

Once Anton was relatively safe he emptied the clips for his AS Val and began loading the 9X39mm cartridges into the Groza magazines. He had more bullets than he could fit, but that might prove to be a good thing. Clacking everything into place on his Groza, he suddenly missed his AKSU—it had been much more reliable and he’d liked it better despite the significantly smaller caliber.

The only thing that truly worried him about this assault rifle was the cracks on the body of it. That meant that rain might have gotten in and rusted all of the components to each other so that they would no longer work. Just to be sure, he fired a test round. Since his mind was on the bizarre walking skeletons and not on the Monolithians, he stupidly fired in the direction of the Palace of Culture building.

The assault rifle had a very hard kick and since he was used to the much lower blowback of an AS Val he was almost knocked over backwards. Startled, he steadied himself—just in time for five Dragunov rounds to go whistling by his head.

Dropping to his belly, he swore at himself for being so stupid and set his Groza to one side. Pulling his Monolithian rifle off of his shoulder, he wormed his way to the lip of the roof and peered around through the scope. Below he could see the footwalk above the street. Standing in front of many large windows that no longer had any glass was a Monolithian with a Dragunov SVU like Kolya’s. He was careless, and not checking to make sure his opponent was down. It would be the last mistake he ever made. Centering the red dot on the curtain helmet’s silver visor, Anton pulled the trigger.

There was no recoil at all, and the quiet electrical whine that came from the gun indicated that it was recharging as it steadily grew higher in pitch. This lasted for about two seconds, and Anton realized that this gun was intended to be a sniper rifle. Only now that he’d fired it himself had he seen the lightning-shaped discharge from the barrel, similar in nature to an Electro anomaly. This, the unnatural blue light and nonexistent recoil made him decide that there was probably an artifact involved.

Looking around through the scope just for kicks, it was then that he noticed the second Monolithian standing on the footwalk in front of the Palace of Culture building. Grimacing, he brought this one into his sights and fired again. At last, an easy way to kill the lunatics. This weapon was indescribably valuable now that he knew this and how to use it.

Hopefully he’d be able to get back alive and show this to the others.

Swallowing, he checked the Groza one more time before going into the doors and once again descending the staircase. His boots touched softly in the dust, and thankfully he could not hear any of the awful clicking sound that they made. He stopped for a second.

“Vetsyenchuk, come in, and don’t speak too loudly. This is Captain Gorodyetsky.”

[ _Standing by, captain._ ]

“Yavoshenko is standing near a staircase that’s filled with rubble. Near the top is a gap. I want you to climb through it and wait. When I come through there, if there are skeletons chasing me, I need you to cover. Do you understand?”

[ _Yes, captain. On my way._ ]

Anton clipped his walkie-talkie back onto his belt and continued moving again, being as silent as he knew how. He didn’t think they could hear because they had no ears, but he was being careful just the same. Passing the dead Monolithian on the landing only served to unnerve him once again. It served as a reminder about how dangerous the dead creatures must be. He didn’t encounter any problems until he was on the lowermost of the blocked floors. He’d been going down the wrong staircase, and there was no gap to climb through.

The rain that poured down in torrents continued to spray in through the window, mixing with the dust on the floor and creating a slippery, radioactive sludge that made a sucking sound when he pulled his boots out of it to step. He had no idea where the skeletons were now, either. He’d have to take the chance.

Anton became alarmed when he heard Vetsyenchuk begin firing his own Groza and started running down the hall. A chunk of ceiling caught the toe of his boot and he did a face-plant in the muck. White flashed in front of his eyes and he cried out, more from surprise than pain. He then climbed to his hands and knees and tried to wipe the grey sludge from his visor, though he mostly only succeeded in smearing it worse. Standing up and scooping sludge from his gun, he began moving down the hall again, taking a sharp right—and looking at the backs of the skeletons.

“Captain DUCK!” Vetsyenchuk screamed at him, sliding a VOG-25 in his Groza’s Kostyor launcher.

Anton threw himself down and more muck splattered onto his facemask. A second later a loud explosion rocked the floor and there was a clattering sound like a plethora of sticks hitting concrete at once. Looking up, he saw that they’d been shattered by the blast, and the clattering had been their remains hitting the floor. Breathing hard and unsuccessfully wiping his visor again, he stood up.

“Private Vetsyenchuk, you were specifically ordered not to fire those inside,” he said.

“I apologize, sir.”

“I’m not finished. Given the circumstances, however, and that you probably just saved both of our asses, I’ll put in a good word for you with Misha.”

Vetsyenchuk’s chest swelled with pride. “Thank you, captain.”

They both squirmed their way through the gap again. Anton pulled his Groza through and half-slid, half-fell down the rubble pile to the floor. Dust puffed up when he landed, and he brushed as much of it off of himself as he could.

“Skeletons?” Yavoshenko said.

“Skeletons,” Anton said, and on his right Vetsyenchuk nodded. “Dozens of them. They’re gone now. And, more importantly, I have the rifle.”

He pulled it from his shoulder and handed it off so that the Duty sergeant could inspect it. Yavoshenko turned it over in his hands, looking it over thoroughly and fingering it as though he could figure it out through touch.

“So this is it?”

“Yeah. I took out two lunatic snipers with it. It’s very quiet and there’s hardly any kick. It has a slow firing rate, though. It’s obviously intended for sharpshooters.”

Yavoshenko nodded and handed it back.

“Damn. It’s heavy, too. You sure can carry a lot of shit for such a little guy, Anton.”

“Yes, Vladik. You definitely qualify as a lot of shit,” Anton deadpanned.

“No, you’re going down for that one,” Yavoshenko growled and moved to tackle Anton, who used the Duty soldier’s momentum to flip him easily over his back and plant his foot on his chest.

“Apparently you’re going down for that one,” Anton mused, then let him up.

“So what are we gonna do about Zalikev? I can’t leave him here,” Yavoshenko said, becoming serious.

“I don’t know,” Anton shrugged. “It might be easier now that I’ve taken out the two snipers on the footwalk, but there’s still a good sized number of fanatics still inside the building.”

Yavoshenko shook his head. “Fuck. We’ll just have to take that risk.”

“Alright, but you’ll be carrying him, Vladik. He’s your soldier,” Anton said. “I’ll take point and Vetsyenchuk will cover our rear. We should be able to get through if we hurry. Vetsyenchuk, you have all permission and wishes to use your grenades on them once we’re out there.”

They waited for a few moments as Yavoshenko got ready, then when he came out of the room with Zalikev on his shoulders they moved down the stairs. Anton cautiously looked out through one of the broken windows—he could see the footwalk and the Palace of Culture building. Across from where he stood was one corner of the Party building, and one of the corpses on the footwalk had fallen to the street. There were no Monolithians in sight, but there was a chimera feeding on another corpse to the far left. He swallowed.

“A chimera.” He whispered in case it could hear them, which it probably could. “We’re not getting through on the street alive.”

“What about the footwalk? It’s close enough that we could probably climb onto it from a window in one of the hotel rooms,” Vetsyenchuk suggested.

Anton and Yavoshenko looked at each other, then back at the grenadier.

“It’s probably our best bet,” Yavoshenko agreed, so they ascended the stairs again. Anton wondered why he hadn’t just looked out the window to see if the

street was clear before they’d trekked all the way down.

They found a window that was completely devoid of broken glass and Anton squirmed through it first. It wasn’t too tight, but that didn’t make it comfortable. Vetsyenchuk went next, and once he was on the other side Zalikev was carefully passed through the window and then sat down on the roof with his back against the side of the building. Yavoshenko was not as fortunate as the three of them—due to his large frame and height, he had to take off his armor, push it through, and then climb through himself.

Once the Dutyer was suited up again he picked up Zalikev and they took turns jumping the narrow gap between the roof and the footwalk. Once Anton’s boots were firmly planted on the concrete, he went across it as quickly as possible in case some Monolithian noticed him and decide to take aim.

They stopped for a moment in front of the Palace of Culture building. Anton looked through the broken windows—they were large enough for two chimeras to jump through at once. He could see barrel-fires inside, and if he stepped through he’d be on another walk and he could go further in. Inside over the crackle of the fires in the barrels, he could hear chanting, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“We’ll have to go in for a few seconds,” he said, nodding at a part of the footwalk where the concrete had collapsed. “Go through as quickly and as quietly as possible.”

He stepped over the bottom of the window frame, which still had small shards of broken glass sticking out of it. Crouching somewhat and walking on his toes, he hurried across the inner walk and eagerly stepped back onto the other side once he was passed the collapse. He almost slipped and lost his footing—the rain was not making anything easy for him today, but at least it had gotten the gunk off of his helmet visor.

Anton went to the end of the footwalk and swallowed—it probably looked a lot farther to the ground than it actually was, but he’d never been a fan of heights. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he jumped off and when his boots slammed into the pavement he bent his knees to absorb the impact. Even so, it was painful to the soles of his feet, but at least it was over. He pulled out his walkie-talkie.

“Misha, we’re about to enter the Party building. Please don’t shoot us.”


	15. Party Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton and Vladik finally break into a fistfight.

Kolya was disappointed when Yavoshenko walked in after Anton, apparently unhurt when most of the rest of the Dutyers had been killed. He scowled, even though his expression would be hidden by his silver visor. Despite this, the sergeant seemed to get it and didn’t look at Kolya.

“So what actually happened?” asked Mikhail.

“RPG knocked a wall down on them,” Anton said. “He has a crush fracture in his tibia.”

“Ouch. Titenok isn’t doing much better,” Mikhail reported. “After you left he complained about pain, then he said it felt cold and he’s shivering now.”

Anton slung his gun over his shoulder and walked at a rapid pace across the room to Titenok, who was still laid out on a table. Kolya turned to watch; he hadn’t actually known this, because most of the time that Anton had been gone he’d been giving sniper cover on the floor above and had only recently gotten back.

“Hey, Lev. How’s your side?” Anton asked, reaching into his webbing and pulling out his blue box.

“Uh… it’s… it’s cold, now… like… someone shoved ice in there. But… it’s not really cold as in numb… it’s cold like it’s… like it’s full of snow. Is that bad?”

“I don’t know, Lev. I’ve never seen injuries like yours before,” Anton admitted. “I have a gun that’s like the one that hurt you, though. So we’re going to look at it, and maybe we’ll be able to help you.”

“Captain am I… going to die?”

“I don’t know.”

“If I die… bury me in the swamps. I like it there.”

As Anton lifted the bandages so he could look underneath, Kolya walked over.

“It’s not bleeding. It hasn’t bled since he was shot,” Anton observed.

“Is that good or bad?”

“ _Ya ne znayu_ , it’s weird. I’ve never treated anyone without their blood being involved. I have no idea what to do for this.”

“So tell me about firing it,” Kolya said.

“Well, I think it might have an artifact in it,” Anton said slowly. “It looked like there was an electrical discharge and a blue light. The bullet went a lot faster than normal and it had almost no kick to it. It reminds me of my Flash artifact.”

“Maybe that’s it, then,” Kolya said. “If it is an artifact, maybe the Soul doesn’t work because artifacts can’t counteract each other like that.”

Anton shrugged.

“That’s as good a theory as any, I guess. But it still won’t help him, and it won’t help me help him. I feel…”

“What?”

“Worthless,” Anton admitted. “I can’t stop the bleeding because there’s no blood. I can’t give him painkillers because there is no pain. This isn’t something I can treat because there’s nothing to treat. The bullet came out smoothly, and it was only as far as his muscles. So why is he dying?”

There was so much pain in Anton’s voice that Kolya ached. He couldn’t imagine standing in the other man’s place—having faced probably the worst the Zone could throw at him, and yet having no idea or method to help a simple bullet wound, and not even a critical one. It was a saddening thought.

“How many people have you treated?”

“Oh, countless. When I was still wandering the Cordon with Kostik and getting used to this shit, rookies would come to me with infected cuts in their hands from cats or maybe a dog bite. One time Kostik dislocated his shoulder, and I fixed that, too. I had to hang around in the Garbage for a few days because I was looking for an artifact, and some loners and even a couple of bandits came and paid me to treat them for radiation.”

“Any Freedom stalkers?”

“Uh, once, in Wild Territory. Kostik had a long tail so we avoided East Rostok at all costs. We were going through checking out loot to sell to the crook in the armory at Agroprom, and he just kind of stumbled through. Claw and bite marks all over his body, so we took him to one of the nearby villages. I tried to help him, but he died. The only Duty guy I’ve ever been forced against my will to treat is fatty over there.”

“Hey!” Yavoshenko shouted from across the room and Kolya snickered.

“You know, Yavoshenko, I was thinking about all those horrible nasty things you were saying when we sat down in the red forest, and I realized that you have absolutely nothing to fear. No one in his right mind would ever check you out, because not only are you fat like Anton helpfully pointed out, but your face is just asking for a brick.”

“It is not!” Yavoshenko protested, to which Kolya rolled his eyes.

“Did I miss something?” Mikhail asked.

“It’s not my right to tell you, Misha,” Anton answered.

“I’m gay,” Kolya said, about as loudly as he could without actually shouting. Everyone looked at him except Yavoshenko, who looked away. “Yes, I know, that’s a horrible and unspeakable crime. I got kicked out of my faction because of it. But you know what? I’m already ashamed of myself enough, and I don’t need people making it worse by saying things like ‘oh, I don’t want some faggot queer dude checking me out.’ Because that’s _insulting_. What the hell makes people think that they even rate that high that someone would even think of looking at them like that in the first place? Especially if said person is a stupid dumbass who thinks everyone else should conform to his mindset and on top of that took a nose-dive from the ugly tree and hit every branch going down, _Vladislav_.”

Now all of the Spetsnaz troops looked at Yavoshenko, who seemed to shrink. Then they all looked at Kolya again, but not at once like they had before. Everyone was silent for a while after that. They looked at each other, and at Kolya, and at Anton. None of them looked at the Duty sergeant.

Then Titenok started howling again. They all immediately forgot what Kolya had said and flooded over to the table, so quickly that Anton could barely get over to his patient. Mikhail stepped to one side so that Kolya could see.

“Lev, hey, Lev, tell me what’s going on,” Anton said, his voice remarkably calm considering everything.

“It hurts, it hurts, oh God, make it stop!” Titenok whined, his pale face scrunched into a red grimace and his dark eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally, a symptom I can treat,” Anton muttered, opening his box and rummaging, probably for painkillers.

“What hurts, Lev?” Vrokev asked.

“I don’t know!” Titenok wailed. “Everything! All over! It just hurts!”

“Okay, Kolya, hold his arm still,” Anton said, pulling a syringe out of a bottle and slowly moving the plunger until a thin stream of liquid squirted out of the needle.

“Toshka, wait-” Mikhail started, but Anton was already pushing it into Titenok’s arm and forcing down the plunger.

“What?” he asked, looking up after he pulled it out.

Mikhail didn’t get the chance to reply. Titenok was quiet for a second, then started having violent spasms. Kolya just watched. They started to hold him down, but Anton made them stop because he might hurt himself if they did. As suddenly as it started, it stopped, and the machine-gunner went limp. Anton pulled off one glove and felt the side of Titenok’s neck. Slowly he moved his hand away, then let it drop to his side. He shook his head.

“What were you going to say, Misha?”

“He’s allergic to morphine,” Mikhail said quietly, his voice all but a whisper.

 

*

 

Anton had been sitting in one place for a good hour, now. His rear had gone numb and his Geiger counter was a constant reminder that he had plunked down in radioactive dust, but he didn’t want to move. Mikhail had tried to talk to him, but Anton had tuned out his friend. Yavoshenko didn’t dare say anything to anybody, because most of them were disgusted with him at the moment.

Mostly, Anton had listened to Titenok’s comrades pay their last respects to him, recalling past battles. Many had also said his brother would be waiting for him when he got where he was going. Anton wasn’t sure if that was Heaven or Hell or what, but the way they were talking, he guessed it might be the first one.

Despite Mikhail’s efforts, Anton could do nothing but blame himself. If only he’d listened. If only he’d waited. If only. He could ‘if only’ until Doomsday. Lev Titenok was dead, and it was his fault. Worst of all, it had happened when he’d tried to treat something that was a symptom he was used to.

“Does anyone know any jokes?” Vrokev asked suddenly.

“Um… I know a couple,” Kolya volunteered. “Once, three bloodsuckers started arguing, which one of them was the most bloodthirsty and malicious. Finally, they drew lots, in what order they would hunt. The first one comes back in an hour, with pleased eyes and his whole head covered in blood. The rest ask him: ‘How? What? Where?’ ‘Do you see that tree?’ ‘Well, yes.’ ‘So, three stalkers decided to take a rest under it. I killed them and drank their blood—there was plenty!’ The second one goes hunting. Gets back in two hours: head, paws, chest—all covered with blood. The fellows start asking him. ‘Do you see that tree over there?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘So, a group of bandits had set up a small camp there. I killed them all and drank their blood.’ The third bloodsucker went hunting. One hour passes, two hours—no sign of him. His friends almost started thinking he had run into an anomaly or got slain by somebody, when, finally, he appeared staggering towards them, all covered with blood. ‘And where have you been?!’ ‘Do you see that far most tree over there?’ ‘Yes, we do… ’ ‘But I didn’t!’”

Many of them gave grim chuckles.

“It serves him right,” Vetsyenchuk grunted. “I hate the kravasos most of all.”

Anton didn’t find it amusing. He stayed silent, still looking at his boots. He’d need to throw them away if he ever got back—they were clogged with all sorts of radioactive muck. If he was lucky, his toes wouldn’t fall off from the radiation.

“Anton.”

“I don’t want to talk, Kolya.”

Kolya sat down next to him. Anton could hear his companion’s SEVA suit rustling. “Then don’t. Just listen. People die sometimes. Actually, no. People die constantly. Especially here. There’s no point in dwelling on it. But there’s one good thing in my mind, about you beating yourself up like this over it. It means you care. I’m proud to call you my friend, Toshka.”

Kolya slapped his shoulder once, then stood up and walked away. Anton raised his head from his arms, which were folded over his knees. He didn’t actually hear anything, but Yavoshenko must have said something, because Kolya’s head whipped around.

“What did you say?” he hissed.

Yavoshenko shook his head. “Nothing.”

“No, I heard you say something to me, what was it?” Kolya demanded.

“Nothing, I said,” Yavoshenko insisted, which was enough for Anton to know that he had said something.

He stood up slowly and walked over to the Dutyer, arms folded over his chest. Yavoshenko didn’t appear intimidated, probably because Anton was about a fourth of a meter shorter than him and because he didn’t know that Anton could sometimes be subject to very violent impulses.

“What did you say to Kolya?” he growled.

“ _Gomik_.”

Before he even knew he was doing it, Anton drew back his fist and punched.

His gloved fist slammed headlong into the front of Yavoshenko’s gas mask, shattering the already-cracked lenses and pushing the nose cup into his face. Yavoshenko stumbled back about half a step, then ripped his helmet off of his head and tackled Anton about his waist with an angry bellow.

Knocked onto his back, Anton was helpless to stop Yavoshenko from punching him back, slamming his facemask into his mouth and splitting both his lips. In turn he head-butted the Dutyer, his Kevlar and steel helmet crashing into his nose. While Yavoshenko was distracted Anton shoved him off and then knelt on his chest, pistoning his fists into the Dutyer’s head repeatedly until Yavoshenko ceased to struggle.

Breathing hard, Anton got off of him and pulled his own helmet from his head so he could spit out a mouthful of blood. The hard plastic reinforcements on the knuckles of his gloves were lightly cracked in a spider-web pattern, and his hands felt like he’d probably bruised them. Yavoshenko’s face was a mess. Anton just watched as he wiped blood out of his eyes and sat up, holding his chest because his broken rubs had been jarred. None of the soldiers made a move to help him, but they also eyed Anton wearily.

“What the hell was that for?” Yavoshenko spat, climbing to his feet.

“You deserved it,” Anton said flatly, staring him down.

Yavoshenko wiped more blood off his face, then slid his broken nose back into place with a second sickening crunch. Grimacing, he stalked off to a far end of the room to stew.

Anton usually tried to force down his hyper-aggressiveness, but Yavoshenko had been getting on his nerves since day one. It was a miracle he’d been able to put up with it for so long. Anton also wandered to a corner and sat down again, wiping blood out of his helmet and then putting it back on like nothing had happened. He resumed his sulking over Titenok’s death.

“We need to move out soon,” Mikhail said after clearing his throat. “The Monolithians know we’re here and are probably bearing down on our position. Sergeant Yavoshenko, you’re on your own. We’re going to bury Titenok, and then get ready for our next objective, which is the Palace of Culture building. After that, it’s _vperyod_ to the football stadium.”

The two Spetsnaz both grunted in agreement and then Mikhail walked over to Anton. His boots clunked loudly, despite the carpet of dust.

“Toshka, come on. We need to go.” He reached down his hand to help Anton up. “Have you had problems with him in the past?”

“Countless,” Anton nodded, accepting his friend’s grip. “He started out awful, but now he’s pissing me off so much I wish I’d let him die in that blowout.”

“Is Kolya really… gay?” Mikhail asked, lowering his voice.

“Why don’t you ask him that,” Anton answered. “Actually, I never knew until he was provoked into admitting it by Yavoshenko. You’d never know to look at him. And besides that, why do you care? Your sister is like him.”

“Yeah… I’m just curious, Toshka. And I would ask him but he seems like he’s sensitive about it.”

“He is, but if you ask him nicely he probably won’t kill you over it.”

Mikhail slapped Anton on his shoulder and they walked over to where what was left of Vrokev’s squad was standing around. Kolya also stood there, a little apart from the group. Vetsyenchuk had impatience written into his stance, but Vrokev just looked weary. He was one of two of his squad still alive. Anton could guess that Mikhail was thinking the same thing.

“Are you coming with us, Kolya?” asked Mikhail.

Kolya nodded.

“I stick with my friends, once I know who they are,” he said.

Anton couldn’t tell because of the SEVA suit’s enormous silver visor, but he got the idea that the ex-Freedom stalker had been looking at him when he’d said that.

They made sure that they had everything, then Anton hefted Titenok’s body onto his shoulders and carried him outside. The rain drummed against the pavement and the buildings, and soon it was pounding Anton’s helmet as well.

“God, this weather is awful,” Vetsyenchuk said. “If I live to the end of the mission, I’m going to ask to be stationed somewhere else.”

“Agreed,” grunted Vrokev.

Mikhail walked on Anton’s left, covering him with his enormous sniper rifle. “You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to, Toshka,” he said.

“I do want to,” Anton said, only realizing this as he said it. “Kolya and I are the only two loners ever to make it this far into the Zone. I might as well see it all while I can, because we probably won’t live to make it back.”

“I want to tell you that’s not true, but I know that it is. I wouldn’t have admitted this even yesterday, but now that my team is all but gone… even being Spetsnaz and armed and trained as we are, I’m surprised we made it this far. Until our chopper crashed I never even saw a Monolithian up close, they’re just a splotch of grey in my scope. If I live, I hope I never have to see one of those bastards again.”

They went out into the street. Something powerful had ripped up chunks of the concrete, so it was now dirt, and cratered dirt at that. Vetsyenchuk pulled his shovel off of his back and unfolded it, then took the first of many rounds that they shared in digging the hole. It was shallow and just barely long enough, and worst of all they had nothing for a grave marker. But they didn’t have time to look for one. Even as they started filling it in, a Monolithian began shooting. Kolya’s sniper rifle barked once and the gun fell silent.

Anton knew more would follow. Those who didn’t have their shovels unfolded kicked the dirt in, or bent over and pushed it with their hands. They didn’t have time to really fill it in, because now the enemy warriors were shouting.

“Go, go, GO!” Mikhail shouted. “Toshka, Kolya, take Vetsyenchuk and circle to the other side! Vrokev and I will lead them off!”

Anton nodded and led Kolya and the grenadier at a rapid sprint back to the Party building and then through it, pulling his gun from his shoulder as he ran. Once he was sure that none of the lunatics were following them, he took point again and they moved around to the back of the Palace of Culture building. He could see the Ferris Wheel, and beyond that, many apartments. It was then that he remembered the sniper with the special rifle.

“Kolya, I’m going to need you to do something very strange. Run as fast as you can in a zigzag towards those apartments, and watch out for the carnival rides. If you see the RPG that killed the Dutyers while you’re over there, take him out. Okay?”

“Okay,” Kolya said, nodding. “But uh… why?”

“I have to take out that sniper and you’re the fastest guy here.”

“Good enough,” Kolya said.

Once Anton was ready with his ugly black rifle, Kolya began sprinting. While he did, Anton scanned the tops of the apartment buildings through his scope. There! A blue flash and a beam split the air. It lingered just long enough for Anton to track its origin, and he fired at the head of the Monolithian. The projectile pulsed from the end of his barrel and speared through the skull of the fanatic, who dropped his own gun and sprawled across the roof. Lowering his rifle, he was just in time to see Kolya stop, spin around and fire off his own sniper rifle with a loud crack at something on top of a round building nearby.

Kolya came back, his SEVA suit drenched from being out in the open and water beaded up on his helmet visor.

“Are you as wet as you look?” Anton asked.

“No, it’s waterproof,” Kolya said matter-of- factly.

[ _Toshka, we’ve lost them, but they might be coming back your way. Be_ _quick,_ ] warned Mikhail.

“I’m on it, Misha. Good news: we took out the fucker on the apartment building by the Ferris Wheel.”

They continued along the back until Anton could find a suitable entrance; while they moved, he switched to his Groza.

“Vetsyenchuk, take point so you don’t blow us to hell,” Anton ordered softly.

Moving as quietly as they could, they entered the building. Anton wished that he wasn’t the one who had to give orders. Vetsyenchuk’s life would be on his head if it was lost.

“Toshka, look,” Kolya whispered, pointing.

Anton turned his head. Past a barrel fire was a staircase.

“Good idea,” Anton nodded.

They began climbing the stairs. Anton grew nervous when he noticed Kolya tense. Something was nearby. They cautiously climbed the stairs and once at the top Anton looked at Vetsyenchuk.

“Do you have a spare one?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

“Well… for a rainy day,” he shrugged.

“I think today’s plenty rainy already, captain.”

“Too true. Thanks,” he said, nodding and taking the VOG-25 from Vetsyenchuk.

They moved down the hall and into what appeared to be the central space where people might gather. In the middle was an enormous mound of trash, roughly cylindrical in nature and stretching all the way to the ceiling. Around its base were many small fires, as well as multiple objects that Anton guessed were artifacts—he’d never seen any of them before in his life.

And people were gathered there, all right. Around the statue of garbage knelt eight or ten Monolithians, each one with his eyes closed, his hands on his knees and swaying back and forth or side to side. Anton raised his gun, waiting for them to notice and attack, but they did nothing.

“What-”

Anton shook his head at Kolya, who got the hint and didn’t finish his sentence. Motioning for them to stay in cover, he crept forward with his Groza still shouldered. The floor under his feet now was hardwood, and, unlike most of the interior surfaces of buildings in Pripyat, it was clean and shiny. Actually, aside from the mountain of rubbish, this room was immaculately tidy. Apparently this was where Monolithians came to congregate.

Moving carefully so that the floor couldn’t creak under his boots, Anton stalked right up to them and they either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Startled by the fact that Monolithians were able to become harmless, he also knew that it was probably only a matter of time before they stopped being harmless again.

But there was also the problem of other Monolithians being present. If they heard his gun going off, they’d all come running. Anton suddenly missed his AS Val—it had had a silencer. The Groza would alert every Monolithian in earshot. Slinging his gun over his shoulder, Anton pulled his hunting knife off of his belt and yanked the first Monolithian’s head back. Before the man could react, Anton sliced the serrated edge across where his chin met his neck. Once the Monolithian was dead, he carefully set the corpse down on the floor so that it wouldn’t make a thump.

After being forced to repeat this process six or seven more times, his hands and arms were covered in blood and he’d probably never get the stain off of his uniform. After laying down the last one, Anton’s curiosity got the better of him and he began rummaging their bodies, looking for maybe some advanced body armor. Much to his shock and interest, there was nothing—just drab green bulletproof vests of a very simple model and grey camouflage fatigues.

While he was searching them, he also picked up one PDA off of them, which he dropped into his webbing before he crept back to the others.

“Kolya, don’t shoot, it’s me and I’m coming around the corner,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

Anton came around the corner and outside he heard the rain pick up.

“How many did you kill?” Kolya asked, looking at the blood that slicked his hands.

“All of them. I slit their throats so the other lunatics wouldn’t hear me. I also found something that may be useful, so let’s meet up with Misha and look at it.”

They exited the building the way they’d come in. The raindrops pounded on them like sledgehammers, and it was coming down in such a way that Anton couldn’t see more than a few meters in front of him.

“Misha! We found some info! Meet us in the Party building!” he screamed into his walkie-talkie over the noise of the gale.

[ _Toshka, what do you have?!_ ]

“I don’t know yet! Just meet us!”

They moved back to the Party building and waited for Mikhail on the first floor, which was the only floor that still had intact windows. Anton’s breath steamed from his facemask and he wiped water off of his suit.

It took a few minutes before Mikhail and Vrokev arrived. Mikhail was shivering slightly, and Anton guessed he’d been outside the whole time. He pulled the PDA out of his web-pouch and thumbed it to life. “Damn, it’s all encrypted,” he muttered, looking through the files. When he got to the end he found one that was accessible. It was a .JPG file, which meant it was an image, and when he opened it his eyes widened. “ _Bozhe moy_.”

“What? What did you find?” asked Kolya.

“The Wish Granter.”

The image was of a massive blue glowing object and many soldiers in grey kneeling before it with their heads bowed. A caption at the bottom read: _The_ _glorious and holy Monolith will grant us our greatest desires when we eradicate_ _the vermin that infest the Zone. Here are my brothers, at the heart of the Zone in_ _its beauty._

“What does that actually mean?” Mikhail asked.

“What?”

“The heart of the Zone.”

“Easy. The Chernobyl Atomic Power Station.”


	16. Sapsan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vladik looks for a way to sneak out of Pripyat. Meanwhile, Anton, Kolya and Mikhail prepare to head for Chernobyl.

Vladislav coughed as he struggled back through Pripyat. His body ached and his face was still bleeding sluggishly, and on top of that he’d now completely failed. Now, if he ever made it back to East Rostok, he’d have to explain to General Voronin what had happened and he’d probably be demoted.

Zalikev was now dead as well. Essentially, he’d known he would be killed on the way back and had opted to eat his gun instead. Vladislav, then, was forced to make the trip alone. Even with his exoskeleton supporting his body and his gear, he was exhausted. He’d have to stop somewhere on the way out; Pripyat wasn’t terribly big, but it was big enough. There was also no guarantee he’d get out at all—everything looked the same, and it was disorienting.

Water had begun to leak into his armor. It was far from an airtight suit, and since he was left without a helmet there was a large gap where the rain could easily get in. Because it was raining it was cold, and he wished he had something that would keep him dry. It wouldn’t do him any good to get hypothermia now, and he knew it. He’d have to wait until the rain let up. Kicking in the door to one of the apartment buildings, he went in and was annoyed to discover that the roof leaked so badly that it was dripping on the first floor of a 16-story apartment building.

Making a face, he moved around the dripping water and began climbing the stairs because it was tactically a better position, no matter how much water was getting through. Moving up to the fourth or fifth floor, he walked through the mud in the hall and found that one of the doors was ajar. Pushing it open the rest of the way, he went into it with his gun raised and systematically cleared the rooms before closing the door behind him. Slumped on the floor in a room that had a window was a dead Monolithian with a Groza, a Dragunov round in his head.

“Tough shit for you, dude,” he muttered, checking the corpse for ammunition. After finding only two extra magazines, Vladislav was dismayed to look through his own web-gear and discover that, counting this new ammunition, he only had a hundred rounds left. “I’m fucked, I’m fucked, I’m so fucked,” he whispered to himself.

Vladislav only really realized how true this statement was when he glanced out the window again and, through the rain, saw a small patrol of Monolithians walking up the street. If he started shooting, they’d probably alert their fellows to his presence, and he didn’t have nearly enough ammo for a firefight with four of them. Looking at them and then at the dead Monolithian under the window, Vladislav only now wished he hadn’t alienated Anton and Kolya. Thanks to his stupidity, he was about to die.

[ _Brother, are you still alive up there? The Monolith has called to many today,_ _we are checking to make sure you are not one of them,_ ] came a monotone voice over the walkie-talkie of the corpse.

Wait a minute.

Anton’s idea had been stupid for the purpose they’d used it for, but it might save him now, if only the body in front of him had once been a man his size. There was a fairly large-framed warrior in the patrol, he’d seen, carrying a PKM. If they entered the apartment building, Vladislav could ambush them and potentially kill them before they had time to alert their friends. But he’d have to do it right. If they were as disciplined as they looked, he’d have a very hard time passing for one of them.

He could hear them talking to each other on the street, but he couldn’t make out the words. Studying the dead Monolithian’s uniform, he made a note of where everything was and in his mind made an image of himself in the same uniform to the same standards. Vladislav smiled to himself and silently thanked God that he’d been led first to the military and then to Duty. If he had not been part of these organizations, he would not know about uniform standards and he would probably be killed attempting this.

His head snapped up at the sound of them moving the kicked-in doors out of their way on the first floor. Breathing through his nose so that he was more silent, he moved out of the apartment and just behind the corner where the staircase was, his muscles tensed. His heartbeat was a piston in his chest, and he could hear their black boots softly scraping as they moved up the stairs. The first one reached the top. Vladislav saw the short barrel of his Groza appear first, then his hands and arms.

Before his enemies could even see him he grabbed hold of the Monolithian and hauled him around the corner into the apartment. Gripping the lunatic’s head, he wrenched his arm in one direction and upon an audible snapping sound dropped him. The second one came, stupidly charging in like a blinded boar. Vladislav’s fist hammered into the dark green gas mask, cracking the lenses and knocking the man backwards. Before he could actually fall, Vladislav grabbed his ugly green vest and yanked him forward, ripping out his knife and stabbing it into the Monolithian’s jugular before tearing it back out again in a wash of blood.

Vladislav sheathed his hunting knife and picked up his Groza, then ducked out into the hall cautiously.At the same time the third Monolithian also poked his head out. Both of them raised their guns, but Vladislav was faster, enough so that he managed to pump a three-round burst into the man’s face. The monolithian’s skull was pulverized by the armor-piercing rounds.

Vladislav let out a relieved breath but then remembered the fourth Monolithian and tensed again. He jumped when the walkie-talkie of one of the corpses crackled.

[ _Brothers, I detected gunfire in your vicinity. What is the status of the infidel?_ ]

Vladislav thought fast and picked it up.

“He is still alive and dangerous, brother,” he said, trying to make his own voice as monotone as possible. “We require your assistance.”

[ _Confirm location._ ]

“Unknown.”

[ _Understood._ ]

Vladislav heard the fourth lunatic enter the apartment building. That was his first mistake. After a few moments, Vladislav could see light in the stairwell: a headlamp, and his second mistake. Slipping behind the corner again, he knew exactly when the Monolithian was approaching. From the stairs came the Monolithian, and instead of turning left, he turned right. His final mistake.

Vladislav sprang at the Monolithian. At the same time the fanatic turned, but it was too late. They both hit the floor, their weapons skidding away from them. Vladislav grabbed the man’s neck in his hands and squeezed with all of his strength. Even though the Monolithian punched him in the face repeatedly, he refused to give up his death-grip on the man’s throat. Soon the man’s struggles weakened, and he could no longer attack because of a lack of oxygen to his brain.

When the lights behind his eyes went out Vladislav let go, his chest heaving, and sat down with his back against a wall to rest for a few moments. He could feel the adrenaline beginning to leave his system and his muscles trembled. Feeling drained, he knew he couldn’t sit for long because if he did he’d never want to get back up. Climbing to his feet again, Vladislav dragged all the corpses into the apartment and lined them up next to each other so that he could compare their uniforms and know exactly what it was he was supposed to look like.

Sighing, he unstrapped the various components to his exoskeleton and shed them, feeling like a traitor. He couldn’t simply carry his armor with him this time. He peeled off his wet fatigues, now not only damp from the rain but saturated with sweat from the fight as well. Stripping off even his socks, once he was bare except for his underwear he brushed moisture from his skin with his hands and began examining the corpses.

The biggest one who’d carried the PKM was about his size. Vladislav made a face as he began undoing the man’s webbing and gear. It took about ten minutes to remove everything, and when he was finished he hauled the dead man into a different room so that he wouldn’t have to look at him. Examining the uniforms of the other four carefully, Vladislav set to work. First was a light grey, short-sleeved undershirt and grey socks.

“Do these guys just have a thing for grey or what?” he muttered, stuffing his foot in.

After that was a thin, two-piece brown layer that was made of synthetic fabric. Picking up the pants and sliding them on, he noted the weight and guessed it was to keep out radiation. Pulling the drawstrings at his ankles and waist, he slid on the shirt over his head and pulled up the hood before tying off the ends of the sleeves. Over this was the grey fatigues. The shirt was obviously supposed to be tucked into the pants, so he put that on first. Tucking his pant legs into his boots before tying them, he noted how comfortable it was despite the weight of the inner layer.

Lastly came the tactical gear. Adjusting the bulletproof vest and strapping the gas mask on over his face, Vladislav filled his webbing with Groza rounds and then picked up his battered assault rifle. He probably wouldn’t be able to get into the Bar dressed like this, but he doubted he’d make it that far, anyway. Slinging his assault rifle over his shoulder, he dragged the bodies into another room, then unrolled his bedroll and collapsed into it. He was asleep almost instantly.

 

*

 

“Sapsan, Sapsan, this is Sova, come in,” said Mikhail.

Anton scanned the area with his Groza. “Anything?” he asked.

“Nothing yet. I’m trying channel 7. Sapsan, Sapsan, this is Sova, come in, Sapsan.”

[ _Sova, this is Sapsan, we read you._ ]

“Sapsan, this is Captain Zhakirovsky, my team is all but destroyed, requesting extraction at Objective three-dash-one.”

[ _Negative, Sova, that area is no-go for air assault._ ]

“Request clarification.”

[ _Hostiles in that area with rocket-propelled grenades. We’ve already lost Grif to them._ ]

“Sapsan, if I take out the rocket-propelled grenades, will you extract us?”

[ _Affirmative, Sova. ETA five minutes. Be visible when we arrive. Out._ ]

“Good enough,” Mikhail said, clipping his walkie-talkie to his belt. “Toshka, Kolya, I need you to help me with this. Vrokev, Vetsyenchuk, prikroy. Move out.”

Anton slung his Groza over his shoulder and reached for his Monolithian sniper rifle. Moving at a crouch, he crept out into the open as far as he dared. Across the stadium, far outside the (mildly accurate) range of an RPG, were two Monolithians in exoskeletons. Glaring through his scope, Anton centered the red dot on the head of the first one and fired. A line of blue light straighter than a meter-stick surged forward, and as though the distance was only a couple of meters instead of several hundred the bullet still hit right where the dot was.

“Wow, I love this thing when it’s me holding it,” he muttered.

“How can they land there?” Mikhail wondered suddenly.

“What?” Anton said, looking at his friend.

“Look. It’s choked with anomalies and full of mutants,” Mikhail replied, pointing.

Anton peered through his scope. Sure enough, weaving between the anomalies were chimeras, pseudogiants, boars and tushkanos. Anton’s skin pricked with fear just at the sheer number of these mutants.

“How is he going to land?” Kolya wondered.

“With great difficulty,” Mikhail answered, then fired his Dragunov.

The loud crack split the air and Anton wondered that he wasn’t deaf from firing such a noisy weapon next to his ear. Through his scope, he saw a second corpse in the stands.

“I see one!” Kolya hissed.

“See one what?”

“A Soul! It’s just sitting there, waiting for someone to pick it up!”

“Kolya stop. You’ll get killed as soon as you take one step outside of here,” Anton said.

“Anton I have to do this,” he said. “I need that artifact.”

“You can get it when we’ve killed the fuckers with the RPGs.”

“Shhh!” Mikhail hissed suddenly.

“What?”

“I can’t concentrate on shooting with you two talking!”

His rifle barked again, pushing back against his shoulder.

“Sheesh, save some for me,” Kolya said, shouldering his own sniper rifle.

Creeping out from under the passway in the stadium, he appeared to be looking around. Anton switched to his Groza and moved forward as well to cover his friend. Immediately, a hail of pistol bullets smacked relentlessly into his back. Yelping from the sting and then growling in annoyance, he turned around and saw that this Monolithian was so close that he would blow himself up as well if he’d tried to use his RPG. This was met with a short burst of five rounds into his face and chest, sending him sprawling over into one of the seats.

“So _there_ , bastard,” Anton said matter-of-factly.

Kolya’s gun also went off. Distantly, Anton saw a dark form collapse into a heap.

“I think that’s all of them,” Anton said, looking back at Mikhail.

“Okay. Move up!” he barked over his shoulder at the two troopers behind him.

They filed into the stands, their sights and scopes trained on the actual football field, which swarmed with dangerous mutants. Anton was mostly worried about the chimeras. Unlike the other mutants, they could leap easily into the stadium.

“Sapsan, Sapsan, this is Sova, we’ve eradicated all anti-air elements and we’re ready for you on top of the stands at the south side,” Mikhail said into his walkie-talkie.

[ _Sova, this is Sapsan. ETA 30 seconds and counting._ ]

By now Anton could hear the helicopter rotors through his helmet. He couldn’t help but smile behind his facemask.

“Misha, where are these helicopters going?” Kolya asked.

“Uh… the CAPS, I think.”

Anton froze.

“What?” he said.

“Yeah, after this I was supposed to take my team for sniper support.”

Anton’s gut clenched at the thought of actually going to Chernobyl itself. Pripyat had had a factor of excitement to go along with it, but the power plant utterly terrified him. He hadn’t imagined Pripyat being this difficult, so how awful would it be to try and get through Chernobyl? Angry voices and shouting interrupted his thoughts. Looking behind him, he saw Monolithian warriors starting to pour into the stadium.

“Go, go, go! We need to extract NOW!” Mikhail barked.

Anton and Kolya climbed into the helicopter first. The Spetsnaz inside looked like they’d been through as much hell as he had, and many of the seats were empty. Anton sat down in the one that had the least amount of blood in it and Kolya plunked in beside him.

“A stalker?” asked one who had a sergeant’s stripes on the front of his helmet.

“He’s with us,” Anton said.

Vetsyenchuk practically threw himself in, and after that came Vrokev. Mikhail was last.

“Take off! Incoming hostiles, eight o’ clock!” he practically screamed.

Mikhail slid the hatch shut before strapping himself in. Anton wished he believed in God right then so that he could pray that this helicopter ride would not be as disastrous as his last one.

[ _Sapsan, this is Korshun. What is your status, over._ ]

[ _Korshun, this is Sapsan. We picked up Team Sova—or what’s left of it—from_ _Objective three-dash- one, heading for coordinates fifty-three, seventy-six over._ ]

[ _Sapsan, be advised, Base reports estimated numbers of hostiles in that area to be between seventy and one hundred, this determined by the likelihood that they will be pulling back to the power station versus the concentration of warriors found in Pripyat, over._ ]

[ _Korshun, tell Base we have received their warning, over._ ]

[ _Ten-four, Sapsan. Korshun out._ ]

[ _Sapsan out._ ]

Anton wished he had not heard that radio transmission. Seventy to a hundred? He hated the sound of that. Looking out one of the filth-encrusted windows of the Mi-24, he watched the ground go by below; there wasn’t really anything he could do about it, now.

“How are you feeling, Toshka?” Mikhail asked quietly, apparently sensing Anton’s distress.

“I’m having some mortal terror,” he said.

“You call him sir, private,” growled the same sergeant from before.

“ _Molchyeniye, ti zlupak idyody!_ That’s Captain Gorodyetsky,” Mikhail said.

The sergeant started, then saluted awkwardly. “My apologies, captain.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Anton said wearily, then looked back out the window.

“Well, it’s a good thing you came,” Mikhail said. “You could have stayed there instead.”

“Either way, though. It’s going to end the same. I’ll die surrounded by lunatics.”

Mikhail nodded.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I can see it,” Kolya said suddenly. “Look.”

Anton attempted to do so. If he strained enough, he could just barely make out the approaching power station. On the road below, a lone stalker in a SEVA suit carrying an RPG was moving along at a steady pace. Beside them, Anton saw another helicopter, and another on their right. The one on the right peeled off but the one on their left stuck with them. Anton watched out the window, following the third helicopter with his eyes.

Suddenly it seemed to lose control. Right as it was passing the sign that said ЧАЭС in enormous white block letters, bluish-tinted lightning flashed throughout the air around the helicopter, causing it to start spinning in place.

After about a second it suddenly exploded for no reason, and Anton could only watch in horror.

The explosion rocked the gunship and Anton squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his Groza tightly, his hands sweating inside of his gloves. He waited for the rotor to grind and for them to start falling, but they didn’t. Chatter came across the radio.

[ _Sapsan, this is Lun. We just lost Sokol and Yastreb. What is your status, over._ ]

[ _Lun, this is Sapsan. Still operational, we just got knocked around a bit, over._ ]

[ _Just checking. Out._ ]

[ _All units, this is Korshun! Confirm presence of rocket-propelled grenades and unknown energy weaponry, over!_ ]

Anton’s hairs stood on end.

[ _Presence is confirmed, we lost Yastreb to a rocket-propelled grenade. Unknown energy weapons not confirmed, no sightings, over._ ]

At that very instant, as if the universe had a sense of irony, a hole big enough for a pseudogiant to fit through was ripped in the right side of their helicopter. Anton couldn’t hear anything but he knew they were about to go down. He could see through this hole that they were all but right beside the red and white cooling tower. Then everything outside began to spin, faster and faster until it was all a blur. Then the world exploded in white and noise, and all he could feel was pain.

But only for a moment. After that, there was nothing but darkness.


	17. CAPS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kolya finds the Wish Granter.

Kolya moaned and moved his head. Okay, his neck wasn’t broken. He could feel his toes and his fingers, and he didn’t have blood in his mouth. He was probably okay. Slowly, his eyes opened, but he couldn’t see much.

After a few seconds, he realized he could hear something, a rapid, machine-gunning click in his ear. His Geiger counter. But that wasn’t all. He could hear something else, too. In his mind, whispering to him. It was soft, so soft he could not really make out the words, but he knew on a deep instinctual level that it was _calling to him. If only he listens, he might achieve everything he’s worked for up until now. His greatest wish will be fulfilled, and all he will have to do is come to the source of the deep, soothing voice in his mind._

Kolya prized himself free of his safety harness and with great difficulty struggled free of the crumpled Mi-24. His eyes widened inside his helmet—they had crashed on the roof of one of the levels of the CAPS. This one was significantly lower than most of the others, but not far from the origin of the voice in his head.

_He can climb the sarcophagus, there are plenty of holes in the roof of it where he can get in. He will find what he is looking for there, the Wish-Granting Machine._

Smiling to himself, Kolya held the thought of his very own Soul artifact in his mind as he clambered off of the helicopter wreck and began scaling the nearby ladder. He did not notice the Monolithians. They noticed him, but in his mind there was nothing but himself and this place where his desire would finally come true.

The words reached his ears—“Leave the infidel. He is one possessed by the great and holy Crystal.” “The enemy goes to die. None of the foolish has ever lived long reaching the Monolith.”—but he did not truly hear them talking.

The Monolithians let him pass unmolested, but even if they hadn’t he wouldn’t have taken any notice of them anyway. They weren't there as far as Kolya was concerned.

It took him what seemed an eternity to climb and work his way up to the highest point of the roof, at which point he saw that he could simply walk across to his destination with very little work involved. The real problem would be climbing in through one of the fissures and being able to get to the Wish-Granting Machine without hurting himself or dying in the process. He thought about this as he walked.

To his left, he could hear the battle still going on as the Ukrainian Armed Forces and the Monolith faction butchered each other, but he didn’t care. He knew that the Army was losing. He didn’t care about that, either.

With each step the voice grew stronger, more solid in his mind, and he could hear it calling him, telling him about his reward. Soon, he knew. Soon. Soon he would have his Soul.

In front of him, the white and red cooling tower loomed, obelisk-like and ominous against a backdrop of slate-grey clouds that poured rain as though they wept for the bloodshed going on below them. Kolya moved around the base of it, wearily avoiding a fire that raged on one side and spread radioactive particles into the air.

Suddenly the clicking of his Geiger counter ceased. This and only this shattered his trance for a moment, and when he checked it he found that its needle had broken. Tossing the now-useless detector to one side, he resumed his relentless march across the roof. He was forced to let himself fall onto a lower level that was about a story below, but after that another ladder provided him easy access to the roof of the sarcophagus.

 _Inside is the Wish-Granting Machine, a crystalline object with a cold blue_ _glow that illuminates the rubble within the grey structure. Kolya climbs in_ _through a gap between two blocks and onto a metal pole. From here he can_ _come down onto an internal ledge, and below is a tangle of destroyed fuel rods,_ _chunks of the graphite moderator, and God knows what else. It is now a short_ _fall from the ledge to the “floor” of debris. Kolya can no longer hear anything_ _but the great voice in his mind, not his breath inside his helmet or the soft_ _scraping as his boots pass over the objects underfoot. He trips once, throwing_ _up a puff of dust into the radioactive air, then climbs to his feet again and_ _continues until he is only a meter from the Wish-Granting Machine._

Kolya raised his arms out in front of him and closed his eyes.

“I wish for a Soul artifact.”

He saw a white flash. Suddenly he was standing outside on the same roof he’d started on, the helicopter a few meters away. Looking around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. No Soul artifact. No any kind of artifact, not even a worthless Jellyfish.

“No,” he said. “No. NO! YOU LIED TO ME!” he screamed at no one in particular. “I WAS SUPPOSED TO GET THAT ARTIFACT!”

He stopped bellowing and coughed; a sudden bout of nausea sent him crashing to his knees. Radiation. His broken Geiger counter. Kolya immediately forgot about the artifact upon the realization that he was dying, and ripped his curtain helmet from his head about two seconds before his insides clenched and he threw up.

Cold air and rain slapped his exposed head, soaking his short, thin black hair and dripping into his ears. Spitting to get the taste out of his mouth, he put his helmet back on, then crawled over to the helicopter, hoping that Anton was still alive and could save him.

 

*

 

Vladislav woke up when he was kicked hard in the side and pain exploded in his broken ribs. He couldn’t see who’d assailed him, because his sleeping bag was over his head, but his heart almost stopped in terror and he forgot his pain when the monotone voice reached his ears.

“Rise, infidel.”

Another kick came and he slowly poked his head out, knowing there was nothing else he could do now and also knowing that he was about to die. Two Groza barrels were stuck into his face and slowly he sat up, climbing out of his bedroll.

What an inglorious way to die, Vladislav decided glumly. Captured in his sleep by lunatics. Then, to his shock and great relief, the guns were dropped.

“Our apologies, brother,” said the other Monolithian.

It took Vladislav many seconds to remember that he wore one of their uniforms. Startled beyond the ability to speak that the ruse was working, he just nodded until he found his voice again. “Apologies accepted, brothers,” he replied hoarsly, trying to match his voice tone to theirs.

“We also attempted to seek guidance from the Monolith in our dreams,” said the first one. “The infidels have made it as far as the Atomic Station and many of our brothers have been called to the Monolith.”

“That is grave news,” Vladislav agreed, nodding, although in his mind he was punching his fist in the air in triumph.

“Where have you been assigned, brother?”

“The forest,” Vladislav lied, thinking quickly. “I was on my way but I… stopped to seek guidance,” he said, remembering just in time.

“Many of us are congregating to seek guidance at this time, brother. Perhaps you did not hear the call.”

Vladislav nodded as though he understood, then picked up his own Groza and followed the two real Monolithians into the Palace of Culture building. They climbed up a staircase and he tried not to widen his eyes when he saw that at least five dozen Monolithians were all kneeling around a pile of trash, nodding their heads and swaying. Many wore exoskeletons or SEVA suits in their faction’s colors.

 _When in Rome_ , he thought to himself, then knelt as well at the outer edge of the circle and copied their motions. He didn’t really know what the point of this was, but it was probably buying his life some time—as long as he could pass for a Monolithian, the real ones wouldn’t gun him down. Which in turn brought him to the realization that they would never let him into the base dressed like this. Even so, he doubted he’d make it that far. In order to get to East Rostok, he’d have to cross through the barrier and the Army Warehouses—alone.

On top of that, unlike Duty, the Freedom faction had regular skirmishes with the Monolithians and would shoot him on sight. No matter what happened from here on out, he was running on borrowed time. Vladislav expected to feel something, or maybe to have his life flash before his eyes like when people thought they were about to be killed. But neither of these things took place.

Despite the fact that he’d realized his demise was imminent, he felt calm. He also realized that at this point, it wouldn’t matter if it was the Monolithians or the anarchists or his own faction or even just some dog somewhere. Knowing this, he stood up and simply walked out of the building.

If the Monolithians noticed, they didn’t seem to care, and none paid any mind to his exit. He left the Palace of Culture building and backtracked his way to the building he’d been in before, then pulled a small compass out of his webbing and began moving south up the street.

 

*

 

“Oooohhhh…” The sound of moaning reached Anton’s ears. “Oooohhhh…” There was nothing but blackness and pain and someone’s horrible moans. Distantly, he wondered if he was dead. “Cardiac arrest… skull fracture… maybe organ trauma… oooohhhh…” It was the same person talking as moaning, he realized. “Maybe… bled to death…”

After what seemed like forever, Anton finally discovered that he was hearing himself. That meant he probably wasn’t dead yet.

The next thing he noticed was that he was trapped in something. His first thought was a grasper anomaly, but if that was the case then thorns would have been digging into his body at every angle. Rolling his head to one side, he forced his eyes open and saw that he was still in the helicopter. The seat next to him was empty, and across from him was a gaping, jagged hole. Blood splattered the inside of the gunship and was all over him as well, but he decided that it couldn’t be his because he couldn’t feel himself bleeding anywhere and there weren’t any punctures in his suit.

Wait a minute.

The seat next to him was empty. Hadn’t Kolya been in that seat?

Outside he could hear someone shouting, but he thought nothing of it and proceeded to unsheathe his hunting knife and cut himself free of his mangled

restraints. Aside from a little bit of pain in his neck that he put down to mild whiplash, he hadn’t been harmed. He couldn’t say the same for most of the others, though. Aside from himself and possibly Kolya, only Mikhail and Vetsyenchuk were still alive.

“Ow, ow, OW! Oh, God, stop that!” Vetsyenchuk begged when Anton tried to get his leg free from where it was trapped between the bar for his seat and a jagged edge from where the RPG had ripped open the helicopter. He was bleeding badly and Anton doubted he’d be able to get Vetsyenchuk out without amputating, which he lacked the tools for.

“Okay, look at me, private, no, don’t look at your leg, look at _me_. I’m going to give you some painkillers. Okay?”

“D-don’t move my leg,” Vetsyenchuk stuttered in a whimpering voice.

“I won’t. All I’m going to do is give you some morphine. Okay?”

“Okay… okay.”

Anton swallowed hard and pulled his medkit out of his webbing. Between Yavoshenko, himself, the Dutyer who’d been attacked by a chimera, Titenok and Zalikev, he was running short of many things, but he still had a 50 mL glass can of morphine in his blue box. Ironically, at this point, morphine was one of the only things he had left. Filling the syringe all the way, he pushed back the sleeve on Vetsyenchuk’s left arm and stabbed the needle into a vein in his wrist. The Spetsnaz flinched, then relaxed visibly.

“One more,” Anton said, then repeated this process just to be sure.

He wished he didn’t have to do this. Actually, he wished he hadn’t had to do a lot of things, but this was right at the top of the list for him. But it would still be a better death than the pain and blood loss, and quicker, too.

Looking at the sky through one of the shattered windows, he guessed that it had only been maybe fifteen minutes since they’d crashed, but he didn’t really know because of the thick clouds. Moving past the hatch, he sliced open Mikhail’s restraints as well.

“Misha. Misha, wake up. We need to go,” he said, not daring to shake his friend in case of a neck injury.

“Ughn…” Mikhail’s head rolled to one side, then to the other. “Are we dead yet?”

Anton didn’t know why he found that funny.

“No. And if we want it to stay that way, we need to get out of here right now. We’re at the power station, Misha. This place is probably bursting with lunatics.”

“The soldiers?”

“All dead. Kolya is missing. We should go.”

He helped Mikhail to his feet, then they climbed out of the helicopter. It was still raining hard outside, and Anton couldn’t help but have a bleak outlook.

“I’m starting to think that Mi-24s are worse than those American crash-hawks,” Mikhail muttered to himself.

Anton was about to agree when, through his helmet, he heard coughing. Curious, he walked around to the other side of the helicopter and found Kolya lying on his side, a puddle of vomit less than a meter from him.

“Kolya?”

“Toshka,” Kolya said, then coughed again. “I found the Wish Granter. It didn’t grant my wish.”

“I see that, unless of course your wish was to be lying here incapacitated.”

“No. I wished for a Soul.”

Anton wasn’t the least bit surprised by this.

“Oh. Well, come on, get up. We’re getting out of here.”

“I won’t make it on foot… the Wish-Granting Machine was in the sarcophagus. I’m dying, Toshka.”

“No you’re not. Come on.”

Anton hoisted his friend onto his shoulders, then carried him over to where Mikhail was.

“How do we get down from here, though?”

Anton thought about this. “Um…” He looked around, then his eyes landed on the wall nearby. “I have an idea. Smash open that window. We’ll climb in through there, then get back to the other side of the plant through the building and we can leave on the main road.”

Mikhail rammed the butt of his Dragunov into the window and the glass shattered loudly. Anton knew it would call unwanted attention to them, but it was the lesser of two evils so he was willing to overlook it. He climbed in first with Kolya on his shoulders, then Mikhail came after them.

“Clear that off,” Anton said, nodding at an old desk. Mikhail quickly swept his arm across the surface, scattering papers across the room and kicking up a cloud of dust that made Anton’s Geiger counter jump. Kolya was set down on the surface of the desk and Anton pulled off his curtain helmet. Kolya’s nose was running and there were a number of beta-ray burns under the first layer of skin on his face.

“Oh, shit. Kolya where were you?” Anton demanded.

“The sarcophagus,” Kolya croaked.

“Misha, do you have antirads?”

“Better,” Mikhail said, reaching into his webbing. He produced a bright yellow first aid kit.

“Wow. Where’d you get one of those?”

“All officers are issued them, starting two weeks ago,” Mikhail shrugged. “My team was one of the first to get them because we didn’t actually have a medic.”

Anton snorted and opened it. It was a special set of medical supplies developed by the scientists working at Lake Yantar, designed to treat injuries or sickness induced by the Zone’s atomic, chemical or anomalous hazards. Anton’s blue box was specific for combat wounds, or had been before it’d run out of its components.

While Mikhail helped Kolya to get out of his suit, Anton picked through the yellow medkit and got all of the supplies he’d need ready: adhesive bandages, potassium-iodide, oxycodone, hematogen, and he was surprised that there was even a glass can of salve for beta burns.

“Okay, Kolya, take this and smear it all over your burns and I’ll get your meds ready,” Anton said, handing him the salve.

Kolya looked like he thought he would be sick when he sat up, but he did as he was told and rubbed his skin with the jellylike substance. Mikhail turned away because Kolya was eventually forced to take off his pants to treat the lesions on his legs, but Anton was less squeamish because of his medical training and applied bandages wherever necessary after the salve had been rubbed in.

“You look like a dead Egyptian,” Anton remarked before his friend got dressed again.

“Sorry, I’m just a dead Russian,” Kolya joked. “Actually, I’m from Odessa, but my mother is from Novosibirsk. So really, I’m half Russian. Or Soviet. It depends on how you look at it, I was born in ’87.”

“I have you beat, then,” Anton shrugged, flipping over Kolya’s wrist so he could access the veins there. “1982. I’m more Soviet than you.”

“Well, I can’t help when I was born. My papa was a liquidator, and then I was born. I’m actually a hemophiliac because of that.”

“Hm. Well, if you’re worried about that I’m sure I have some coagulants in my gear. Were you really sick when you were little?”

“In and out of the hospital,” Kolya nodded, then he coughed. “So I’m an only child. What about you?”

“Little brother, Rurik. He was in the army for a year, I think. Sold all sorts of shit on the black market and got rich, and he made enough money to study abroad. Ironically, he became a lawyer.”

Kolya chuckled.

“I remember your brother. He was awful,” Mikhail agreed.

“Okay, put your suit back on. I know that everyone thinks vodka is a good treatment for radiation, but you shouldn’t drink any alcohol because it’ll interact badly with the drugs and I can’t treat you for an overdose. So no vodka, and no beer. And don’t give yourself any more antirads.”

“Got it,” Kolya said. “I still feel really shitty, though.”

“It doesn’t work right away,” Anton said. “But I can’t carry you forever. I’ll haul your ass down the stairs and that’s it.”

Kolya clamped his curtain helmet on and sealed his suit after brushing as much dust out of it as he could. Anton knew his friend felt awful but they couldn’t stay where they were. The entire area was hostile. Moving out into the hall, they made a wild guess about which way they were supposed to go and Kolya took point because he was the slowest. They all stopped when Anton’s and Mikhail’s walkie-talkies crackled and a gravelly message came across.

[ _… imminent… all units… energy surge… blowout… repeat… indicates imminent… units take caution… surge reported on… be a blowout… five minutes…_ ]

Anton’s hairs stood on end. He had no idea if there was an underground area in the CAPS and being underground was the only sure way to know you would live through a blowout.

“Shit. We need to find shelter, now,” he shouted.

As if they didn’t know that. Kolya climbed onto his back and he and Mikhail began running, hoping there were some stairs in that direction that led down. Given that there were no windows or open doors, when they did find stairs, they almost fell down them.

“I’ll go first,” Mikhail said. “Toshka, put your hand on my back.”

They moved down the stairs as carefully as they could until the stairs didn’t go any further. Their path was now blocked by a set of double-doors, which Mikhail pushed open. Surprisingly, there were lights on in this hall and high-voltage signs were bright on many humming generators. A white sign on one wall had large Cyrillic letters on it that read COMMON CONSCIOUSNESS ELECTRICITY—DO NOT SHUT DOWN.

What immediately unnerved Anton, though, was that unlike everywhere else he’d been in this building, this area was immaculately clean, similar to the inside of the Palace of Culture building. That meant that there were Monolithians nearby, and probably a large concentration of them. Even so, they could much more easily kill the fanatics than they could survive a blowout, and this would have to do.

Anton set Kolya onto his feet and they began moving again. Exiting the generator room, they entered a hall where all the paint had either peeled or been scraped off, revealing drab brown. Along the tops of the walls ran thick cables in black insulation, many leading to the yellow dome-lights. Anton wondered if this was a bunker, and though the paint had clearly peeled from the walls, he didn’t think that this had been built when the plant had been constructed.

“What an awful place,” Kolya whispered.

“Hang on, I think there’s a room there,” Mikhail said softly, pointing.

Anton opened the door. It was a room full of equipment he couldn’t begin to guess at what it was for, but it was empty of life and seemed as good a place as any to sit down and wait for the blowout to end. They pushed the door shut and sat down with their guns in their laps.

“You want to hear a joke?” Kolya asked.

“Sure,” Mikhail agreed.

“In a period of truce between Duty and Freedom, two militants of these factions get into an argument. The Dutyer keeps shouting that mutants must be exterminated, while the Freedomer says they have the right to live and some of them are even like humans. The Dutyer gets pissed and tries to prove they aren’t: ‘Mutants can’t talk!’ ‘Zombies can.’ ‘They can’t express feelings!’ ‘Controllers can.’ ‘They can’t love!’ ‘They’ve got a similar feeling. They take care of others of their kind.’ ‘They… they… they can’t stutter!’ The Freedomer thinks a while, then says: ‘Sure they do! I was at the Garbage the other day to get some weed from a supplier, and there was a cat nearby. After some time a pack of blind dogs came, and the cat went “ffffffff!” “ffffffffff!” “fffffffff!”, and, before he could say “FUCK OFF!”, the dogs ate him!’”

Mikhail carefully muffled his laughter so that any nearby Monolithians wouldn’t hear. Anton just shook his head at Kolya in mild amusement.

“Where did you learn all these jokes?”

“Well, I made up the one about the worm and the apple,” he said. “I proudly take credit for that one. The one about the bloodsuckers I heard from Skinflint when I first joined Freedom, and some stalker somewhere told me the one about the cat. Heh, shows how much of an impression he made on me.”

“Yeah,” Mikhail agreed.

They all tensed when footsteps sounded outside. Monotone voices that indicated the presence of fanatics reached Anton’s ears and he strained but couldn’t make out the words. One of the Monolithians’ boot steps stopped in front of the door.

“Brothers, go forth to destroy the infidels,” he droned. “I will find the others and bring them out so that the great and holy Crystal might bear them as weapons to aid in our cause.”

Anton, Mikhail and Kolya all looked around frantically, but there was nothing they could do to prevent themselves from being detected. So they would have to do the next-best thing and take out whoever came through that door. Anton stood on the side of the door with the hinges while Mikhail and Kolya waited on the side where it would open. And open it did; two lunatics entered the room. Before they could react Anton and Mikhail both pounced while Kolya closed the door again to muffle the sound.

Anton knocked his opponent to the floor, realizing too late that this would thump and hoping that it wouldn’t be too loud. His knee in the small of the fanatic’s back, Anton held the back of the warrior’s neck in one hand and pulled out his hunting knife with the other, driving it into the base of his enemy’s skull and ending his life.

“You guys are so scary,” Kolya said.

Mikhail shrugged, wiping blood off of his gloves and onto his suit. Anton didn’t see what good that would do—now it would be stained in two places.

“We’re not scary, Kolya. We’re terrifying,” Mikhail corrected in a humorous tone.

“Back to the subject of these two ass-holes, one of them said he would find others,” Anton said, kicking the corpse of the one he’d killed. “What do you think he meant?”

“There must be more of them nearby,” Kolya speculated.

“They might be through here,” Mikhail said, nodding at another door to one side of an old electrical panel.

“In that case, let’s not go through there,” Anton said. “I think the others are gone, now, and who knows how long this blowout will last. I for one am not going to sit here and wait for more lunatics to show up, so we should just start moving now while we have the chance.”

After giving his Groza a quick check, Anton peered out into the hallway and saw nothing. He nodded over his shoulder at his two friends, and they advanced into the hall with their guns raised and began moving down it in a different direction. Anton felt nervous and as usual it was the silence that unnerved him. He hated silence. Something rumbled outside. Was it from the blowout, or was it from the storm that had already been going on? Whatever it was, he wished that it would stop, because it would drown out the sound of approaching footsteps. At this point, he didn’t know which was worse: the rumbling or the silence that had come before it.

The noise reached his ears at the same moment that agony punched the back of his skull, whipping his head forward and throwing him onto his front. Anton slammed into the floor face-first, and white flashed behind his eyes with the impact. Distantly he felt someone open his hand and take his assault rifle, and the booming roar of at least two Grozas firing ensued. Then, mercifully, there was silence again.

Anton tried to get back up but he was disoriented. All he managed to do was roll onto his back, and he couldn’t really see anything but a grey-brown blur. Faintly, in his peripheral vision, he saw his arms moving as he tried to push himself up.

“Toshka, hey, stop moving,” came Mikhail’s voice. “Where were you hit?”

“Ughn… my head hurts,” Anton groaned, not really answering his friend’s question.

“You got hit in your head?” Kolya asked.

“Don’t know,” Anton mumbled, still trying to get up.

“Kolya, you get his right,” Mikhail ordered.

They took hold of his arms and shoulders on either side and slowly lifted him to his feet. Anton could see a little more now, and he rolled his head to his right. He was able to make out Kolya’s enormous silver visor.

“Come on, man, steady yourself,” the loner said. “We can’t hold you up forever.”

“I can’t see very well,” Anton said, though even as he said this his vision cleared somewhat. “I landed on my face.”

“Yeah, we saw. A couple of lunatics snuck up on us from the other end of the hall. You went down and neither of us has an assault rifle, so I grabbed yours and killed them,” Mikhail said.

“I think I have a concussion,” Anton muttered.

“Well, now we know he’ll be fine, he’s talking medical,” Kolya remarked.

“Okay, Toshka, can you stand on your own? I want to look at your head,” Mikhail said.

Anton leaned on Kolya while Mikhail took his helmet off of him. His dark hair was damp with sweat, so once it was exposed he suddenly felt much cooler. Mikhail’s fingertips probed his head.

“Hm, I don’t see anything.”

“Check his helmet,” Kolya suggested.

“Fuck me,” Mikhail breathed. “Look at this.”

Anton was handed his helmet. He could see again for the most part, and he just stared at the end of a 5.45X39mm cartridge poking out of his helmet.

“Wow. I’m keeping this thing if I ever take it out of my helmet. The bullet that hit me in the head and didn’t kill me. Good thing it was a Kalash and not one of those… whatever the hell the blue guns are.”

Anton could see again. He put his helmet back on and then held out his hand towards Mikhail, who returned his assault rifle.

“Did one of them have a Groza, Misha?” he asked before they began walking up the hall again.

“Um, yeah, I think so.”

“Well, then go snag it. You’ll probably need one again.”


	18. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton, Mikhail and Kolya try to escape the atomic power station.

Kolya still felt sick by the time they’d made it to the other side of the power plant, but Anton’s response had been that it was because of the medicine and not the radiation by that point. All he could really do about it was drink water.

“I don’t like this,” Anton grumbled when they found themselves in front of the door that would take them outside.

“What, the bodies or the Geiger counter?” Mikhail said dryly.

“Both.”

“What does your Geiger counter say? Mine broke,” Kolya asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Off scale,” Anton replied nonchalantly.

“Well, we need to cross it and the longer we stand around the more RADs we take,” Mikhail reminded them.

“Hey guys, I actually have something that might help,” Kolya said, reaching into his webbing and digging around.

“What?”

“Ever heard of the B-190? It’s something that you take before you enter an irradiated area and it keeps your dosage down.”

“Hm. Yeah, that’ll definitely help. Let me see,” Anton said, holding out his hand.

Kolya handed off the blister pack to his friend, who turned it over in his hands and read the writing on the foil.

“How much do we take?” Mikhail asked.

“Directions: Take two tabs with ½ liter of water every four to six hours as needed. Warning: do not exceed six tabs in less than 24 hours. If overdose occurs, induce vomiting and contact your physician or a poison control center immediately,” Anton read. “These must have been produced in America.”

“How can you tell?” Kolya wondered.

“Because where have you ever seen medicine in this country that talks about poison control centers? Anyway, it’s a moot point. How much water do you have?”

“Three bottles,” Kolya answered after looking.

“Perfect, one each.” Anton took off his helmet and facemask, then pushed two of the plastic bubbles up and dropped the tabs into his mouth.

Kolya handed him a bottle of imported mineral water, which he glugged like an alcoholic might drink vodka after having been involuntarily clean for a week. Mikhail repeated this, and Kolya went last. He hoped that these pills wouldn’t make him feel even worse or react badly with the antirads he’d already taken. Swallowing the last drops of water from the bottle, he tossed it over his shoulder and unslung his rifle while Mikhail reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

Immediately Kolya was almost knocked off his feet when a flood of filth-encrusted fur swarmed through the door. Enormous black flies choked the air and his ears were filled with the maddening drone of thousands of buzzing wings, and something was crawling up both of his legs.

“GAH! Fuck me!” Mikhail shouted in pain.

Kolya paid little attention to his exclamation—he was too busy trying to shoot them as they tried to scurry up his body toward the thin Tyvek hood on his head, which would be much easier to chew through than Kevlar and rubber.

“What are these?” Anton demanded, screaming over the infernal buzzing.

“Plague rats!” Kolya shouted back, kicking at them frantically and trying to get away from them. “They’ll eat you alive if they find an opening in your suit! The flies will, too!”

“Wonderful!” Mikhail bellowed sarcastically.

Kolya flung a rat from his knee with another kick and then swatted one from his other leg with his hand, sending it flying into the mass of its disgusting fellows. There were so many flies that he could hardly see anything, and he mostly had to defend himself by feel because he was deafened by the buzzing, which he felt was driving him to insanity. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anton dragged to his knees by the weight of the infected rodents that were piling onto him. He was smashing them aside with his Groza, his elbows and his fists, but it wasn’t enough.

“TOSHKA! GET BACK UP!” Kolya screamed.

If Anton heard him and was attempting to obey, he was failing miserably. If he fell onto his side, it would be all over for him: the rats would pile onto his head and chew through the rubber around his neck, then climb into his suit and eat him from the inside out. Kolya had seen it happen before. Growling, he flung a couple more of the animals away, then began stomping over to the other stalker, each boot hitting down with a sickening crunch as bones snapped and skulls shattered under them.

They were so thick, though, that eventually he was forced to stop and jump up and down in one place to kill as many of them as he could before they could climb onto him as well. It took much longer than it should have to reach Anton, who by that point had almost been buried under the wriggling bodies of the plague rats. They scrabbled at his neck and face, trying to gnaw their way through or push in a hole with their tiny claws. Kolya hooked his fingers like talons and swiped at them, throwing multiple rats with each swing until Anton was more or less visible again, at which point Kolya pulled him to his feet.

“Ugh. Now I’ve got their stink all over me,” Anton complained, following suit and stepping on as many of the vile creatures as he could.

“Yeah, that can happen,” Kolya agreed.

Mikhail gave an angry and impatient growl behind them and then over the buzzing Kolya flinched from the roaring of the Groza. He could barely make out the agonized squealing of the rats as they were each ripped in two by the enormous bullets, and stagnant blood sprayed everywhere. Changing the magazine for his assault rifle, Mikhail lifted his left boot and slammed it down as hard as he could on the last one.

“I fucking hate rats,” he growled, sounding like his teeth were being ground.

“I can tell,” Kolya nodded.

“You’re bleeding, Misha,” Anton pointed out.

“I know, one of the bastards bit my hand, nearly took my fingers off,” Mikhail complained.

“Take off your glove.” Anton took a half-emptied bottle of vodka out of his web-gear and poured the clear alcohol over the bite. Mikhail hissed through his gas mask but in Kolya’s opinion had excellent self-control; in Mikhail’s place, Kolya would have been howling. Anton wrapped gauze around each finger and then slapped an adhesive bandage onto the back of the captain’s hand. “There, you’re good to go.”

“I hope you’re always around to take care of us, Toshka,” Mikhail commented, carefully sliding his hand back into his glove.

“Don’t count on it,” Anton muttered. “I don’t see any of us getting out of here alive.”

“Misha why is he so grim?” Kolya asked, jerking his thumb at Anton. Mikhail just shrugged.

“ _Ya ne znayu_ , he’s been like this as long as I’ve known him.”

“We should get going before more rats come,” Anton said. “And I’m not grim, I’m realistic.”

“Whatever.”

They slowly went outside, guns raised. Kolya did a swift scan through his scope, then decided it was safe and nodded at his friends to venture out. His friends. The thought warmed him and he hoped that Mikhail would stick with them—he was by far a much better companion than Yavoshenko had been.

“Is it just me or is there something wrong with all of this?” Anton muttered.

“What?” Mikhail asked.

“Everyone’s dead. _Everyone._ Monolithians, Spetsnaz, everyone but us is dead here. There should be at least one of somebody left.”

As soon as Anton said that Kolya’s hairs stood on end across his body. He raised his scope to his eye and looked all over rapidly, but he still didn’t see anyone.

“Infidel!” a Monolithian shouted from far away, and then Kolya saw the blue light from his rifle.

Kolya expected to die. Even having been in the Zone for a year, this was one of only three times he’d ever actually thought that he would die. But he didn’t. The blue beam shot past his head, and when he realized what had happened he grinned savagely behind his curtain helmet’s visor and blew a hole through the Monolithian’s forehead. When he turned around, his smile froze.

Anton just stood there, staring as though he’d been frozen in time. Mikhail had dropped his Groza and had his arms over his chest, bending over slightly. Slowly moving his arms from his body, a wash of blood ran down his torso and more of it dripped from his sleeves. Wheezing, the Spetsnaz officer collapsed, and only then did Anton show signs of life again.

“Oh my God, Misha, Misha, breathe, Mikhail,” Anton ordered, throwing his gun to one side and dropping to his knees beside his friend.

“Where’s he hit?” Kolya asked, moving over to them.

“I don’t know, but it must be something vital, because Titenok didn’t bleed when he got hit.”

“Well… maybe that’s good,” Kolya suggested. “Titenok died. Maybe since Misha is bleeding he won’t.”

“Kolya, I need you to help me and shut up,” Anton growled.

Stung, Kolya watched silently as Anton frantically pulled open Mikhail’s armor and began pumping him full of various drugs that Kolya wasn’t familiar with. The hole was stuffed with gauze, and Kolya couldn’t resist asking what he was thinking.

“Don’t you need to take the bullet out?”

“It went through,” Anton grunted.

“Toshka,” Mikhail wheezed.

“Don’t talk, Misha, it hit your lung,” Anton said.

“Toshka, stop. Please, just stop,” Mikhail begged. “It won’t do any good. You know that.”

“Misha, be quiet, you’re making it worse.”

“Toshka no. I don’t want this. You’re making it worse for both of us.”

“Dammit, Kostik, I told you to stop talking,” Anton growled.

Kolya just stared at his friend—had Anton gone delusional?

“Toshka, please. I need to tell Kolya something.”

Anton gave in and Kolya knelt by Mikhail, wondering what the captain was going to say to him.

“I’m listening, Misha.”

“My helmet…”

Anton pulled the Sphere-12 helmet from his friend’s head, then the facemask. Kolya had never seen Mikhail without either of these items, and he was startled by how handsome he was. Kolya quickly suppressed this thought and concentrated on Mikhail’s words.

“I’m listening, Misha.”

“You were looking for a Soul artifact. I have one. I won’t need it where I’m going, and I want you to take it. I admire you, Kolya Turchakov. You’re like my little sister Lyushka, but she never told anyone but me. You are a very brave man to admit the way that you are. I hope that you make it back to your mother.”

“Mikhail…” Kolya started to say, but it was too late. Mikhail’s eyes closed and his head rolled to one side, and Anton just shook his head wordlessly. Kolya didn't know what to think. He slowly reached into Mikhail’s webbing and pulled out the glowing Soul artifact, then realized that, in a terrible way that had cost his friend’s life, his wish had come true.

 

*

 

Anton did not want to move.

He sat, still as death, in the radioactive dirt beside the Chernobyl Atomic Power Station cradling the body of his friend, one side of his face resting on top of Mikhail’s head. Mikhail’s short red hair was pressed against his ear.

“Toshka we need to go.”

Kolya’s voice was white noise in his mind. Anton just closed his eyes, feeling the weight of Mikhail’s head against the front of his left shoulder. All he wanted right then was to die himself—Kostik and his wife had been one thing, but Mikhail was another altogether. Misha Zhakirovsky had been there from the beginning, since the very first day in boot camp, through their tour in Chechnya, and then the Spetsnaz corps. And now he was gone.

“Toshka, get up.”

Anton looked up at Kolya, feeling empty. “Why?” he asked.

“Because if I’ve learned nothing else about Monolithians, I know that there’s always more. We should go before they get here.”

“Why?”

“Because we stand a chance of living that way.”

“So what?” Anton muttered bitterly.

“Toshka, your little girl. Sofya? That’s her name, right? You need to find her.”

“And then what? Bring her here? She’ll die. I have no home to take her to. She’s better off wherever she is, I guarantee it.”

“No, Toshka. She isn’t. She needs to be with you.”

“Kolya.”

“Hm.”

“Get off my back.”

“Anton it’s not your fault—”

“Yes it is,” Anton said. “I shouldn’t have run.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You didn’t run.”

“Yes I did. I ran when I saw a bloodsucker, I should have killed it and then shot those Mercenaries and helped…”

Anton stopped, on the verge of saying “Kostik.” He realized what he’d told Kolya and closed his eyes again.

“Toshka Kostik is gone, and I’m sorry about that. So is Misha. We need to find a place to bury him, and then you need to go to Chernigov and find Sofya, and I need to go to Odessa and give this Soul to my mother. That is what’s going to happen. Now come on. I can hotwire that APC over there and we’ll take it back to slightly less hostile territory.”

“I’m not going.”

“Yes you are.” Slowly, gently, Kolya pulled him to his feet and handed him his helmet. “Come on. If you want I’ll help you carry him.”

Anton shook his head, then hefted Mikhail’s body onto his shoulders and carried him to the BTR armored personnel carrier that sat halfway on the road and halfway off. It was the least destroyed, and when they looked inside there were no bodies. Anton surmised that its load of soldiers had climbed out and been killed, otherwise there would probably have been marks from an RPG impact.

“This is a good one,” he agreed.

They climbed in and Anton carefully strapped Mikhail into one of the seats as though he was alive, then sat down across from his dead friend after closing the hatch. Kolya climbed into the driver’s chair and Anton heard him muttering for a moment before the APC’s engine croaked to life and then revved.

“Alright, here’s to hoping this bad boy has enough fuel to get us back,” Kolya called back to Anton and then they lurched slightly as it started moving forward.

Anton could not remember the last time he’d ridden in an APC. It was much less terrifying than sitting in a helicopter, especially after having been in two crashes, and it was more comfortable because it wasn’t nearly as cramped. Sighing and closing his eyes, he didn’t remember falling asleep, and when he woke up it was dark outside.

“Mph. Where are we?” he wondered, stretching.

It took him a second to realize they’d stopped.

“The red forest,” Kolya answered.

“Why do we stop here?”

“I need to sleep,” the other stalker yawned.

“Ah. Are you hungry?”

“Well… yeah, but only because you’re cooking. I still feel sick from those meds.”

“Yeah, they can do that. It’s not the potassium-iodide so much as the hematogen that tends to make people sick. I read about it when I was in training before the Zone.”

As he talked he got out of his restraints and set his propane burner on the floor.

“What are you making?”

“Soup. It’s all I know how to make, but I have a variety of flavors and things to put into it, so it’s never the same twice. Also, if you don’t want us to suffocate, open one of the hatches so that the carbon monoxide can escape.”

He lit the small propane burner and set the can onto the grate over the flame, then poured in some water. While he waited for it to steam, he reached into his webbing and took out a large floppy object wrapped in a cloth.

“What is that?” Kolya asked.

“Salted flesh fat, three-quarters of a kilogram. The salt keeps shit out of it, and it’ll still be good even though Kostik killed the flesh two weeks ago. Today, it will be our supper.”

He sliced small chunks of fat from the slab and put them into the water to melt and make the broth richer, then hunted his webbing for some bread.

“You’re making us a feast, bro,” Kolya said. “I don’t know I can eat this much.”

“It’s a farewell party for Misha,” Anton shrugged.

“Oh. I see.”

Anton suddenly remembered.

“Kolya… I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I yelled at you and you didn’t deserve it. You were trying to help me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kolya replied. “In your shoes, I’d have done the same.”

Anton just shrugged and spread two thin slices of fat neatly across a couple of bread pieces. The water was steaming, so Anton dumped in the noodles and seasoning from the plastic can and stirred it with the blade of his knife. He sighed.

“Kostik killed this flesh two weeks ago. He’d been tracking it because he’d wounded it, and he had to travel light so he could bring it back. All he had was his pistol and two magazines for it, and he got attacked by a couple of dogs, so when he finally got to the flesh he had no bullets. He wrestled the thing and wore it out, then killed it with his knife. He fought so hard for this fat and the meat for it, and never even got the chance to eat it.”

“Such is life in the Zone,” Kolya agreed.

Switching off the propane burner, Anton took off his helmet and facemask before switching on his headlamp. Kolya also removed his headgear and they sat across from each other with the soup in front of them, taking turns dipping their bread in the broth. Once the bread was gone they passed the can back and forth, eating the noodles with their fingers, and once there were no more noodles Anton drank what was left of the broth.

“Yavoshenko was right about something, after all,” Kolya remarked, and despite everything Anton had to chuckle at that.

“Kolya, hating someone is like taking poison and hoping that they die,” Anton said. “Let it go. We’ll probably never see him again.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Kolya agreed.

Anton didn’t reply, putting away all of his cooking supplies after nibbling one last piece of fat. He pulled the hatch closed to keep the heat in, then unrolled his bedroll. Even so, it was cold without his boots or helmet, because the nights were always cold in late September, and he and Kolya slept with their backs together so they wouldn’t freeze to death.


	19. A Day Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton and Kolya find Vladik again by accident.

“Come on, Kolya, I really need to get out,” Anton begged.

“Hang on, we’re in an irradiated spot,” Kolya called back.

“I shouldn’t have drank all that water yesterday.”

“Oh, come on, I drank way more than you did and I’m fine.”

Anton thought he would explode by the time Kolya stopped the APC and he all but ripped the hatch off its hinges getting out. Grinding his teeth, he sprinted across the street to the first tree that he saw. After a few moments he sighed in relief. Re-buttoning the fly of his fatigue pants and pulling the bottom half of his SKAT suit back up, he turned around and instantly froze.

The tree he’d picked had been on a small rise behind a trailer, and he could see in through the windows. Inside of the trailer was a Monolithian curled up in the corner, and he was clearly still alive because Anton could see him shivering.

Pulling his Groza from his shoulder, Anton snuck around to the front of the trailer and peered in through the entrance. If the lunatic noticed, he didn’t care. Curiosity overpowered Anton’s fear and he boldly walked up to the man and poked him with the end of his assault rifle.

“Mph,” the Monolithian protested. “Are we at the fair yet, Mommy?”

Anton almost dropped his rifle in surprise at the sound of the familiar, gravelly voice.

“Vladislav?” he asked, giving the man another poke with his gun.

“Dammit, cut that out.”

It was definitely him—Anton easily recognized that growl.

“Vladik, what the hell are you doing here in Monolithian armor?”

“Huh?” Yavoshenko mumbled, sitting up slowly.

“Are you drunk?” Anton demanded, seeing an empty vodka bottle sitting a meter away.

“I's drink'n t'get warm,” Yavoshenko muttered, half of his words slurring together into a barely-comprehensible mess.

Anton rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m only saving your ass this time because I can’t stand to see a dumb animal suffer,” Anton growled, then hauled Yavoshenko onto his shoulders and carried him out of the trailer.

“What do you need a fanatic’s corpse for?” Kolya asked, looking over his shoulder when Anton was climbing back into the BTR.

“Yavoshenko apparently defected. I found him drunk in a trailer and I think he’s on the verge of hypothermia.”

“I assume we’re bringing him.” Kolya’s voice betrayed how unhappy he was with this decision.

“Don’t worry, Kolya. If he gets after you again, I’ll just kick his ass the way I’ve done the other eight hundred times.”

Kolya snorted and began driving again after Anton closed the hatch and strapped Yavoshenko into one of the seats. He sighed again looking at the Dutyer, if he even still was a member of the Duty faction. He didn’t really look like he was, but Anton doubted that Yavoshenko would become a Monolithian because he was not so much crazy as he was stupid—the two weren't necessarily the same thing.

“So what exactly are you going to do with him once we’re out of this shit hole?” Kolya called back.

“Uh… take him to his faction, I guess. What do you want me to do with him?”

“Good point.”

“All I can do is let him sleep it off, really.”

They were silent for a while. Anton settled back into his despair, and he found himself staring at Mikhail’s corpse. It was unsettling to see him like that, strapped in like he was still alive. The blood that slicked his uniform was now sticky and coagulated, and Anton could see that some of it had rubbed off on the harness.

“Toshka are you okay back there? You’re being really quiet… but I suppose you’re like that all the time… are you okay back there?” Kolya repeated.

“Just thinking,” Anton replied.

“About what?”

“Death.”

“Oh. Do you-”

“Kolya, please, just drive, I don’t feel like talking.”

Anton was slightly amused thinking about what Yavoshenko’s reaction might be when he woke up next to a corpse with a hangover. He dozed off and on, and woke up when they were bumped about. His eyes snapped open, and through his helmet visor he saw Yavoshenko looking around, apparently having also been startled into wakefulness.

“Privyet, Vladik. You’re an idiot,” Anton said.

“Mph. Why, what happened? My head hurts.”

“You were drinking to get warm. That’s one of the stupidest things someone can do, you almost got hypothermia.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Why are you in a Monolithian uniform?”

“Huh? Oh, that. I was sneaking out of Pripyat. It was a chore to find one that fit without getting it all bloody and suspicious-looking.”

“I’m glad you’re so proud of yourself,” Anton remarked dryly, “that you were able to kill that many people in a brutal way.”

“I knifed and choked them to death,” Yavoshenko answered matter-of-factly.

“You are awful, Yavoshenko,” Kolya called back.

“Yes, probably. Who’s the bloody guy?”

“You’ve met him, he’s Mikhail. He’s also a day dead.”

“Why are you hauling him?”

“I’m going to bury him, he’s my friend since I don’t know when, and he deserves a decent grave.”

“Oh. Uh… I’m sorry,” Yavoshenko said, sounding uncertain of himself.

“Since when are you sorry for anything?” Anton growled sourly. “And don’t apologize, for once it isn’t your fault.”

“Can I ask?”

“Blue sniper rifle on the roof of the CAPS,” Anton answered, knowing what he had been thinking.

They were silent after that and Anton went back to his dozing. He was almost asleep for real when he realized that they’d stopped and he woke back up. People were shouting outside, and he strained his ears to hear what they were saying.

“Come out with your hands up!” someone barked.

“Let me handle this,” Kolya said, walking into the back and opening one of the hatches. “Relax, dudes! It’s only me!”

“Kolya?” someone exclaimed, their voice shocked. “Man, we thought you were dead! Did you find the merc?”

“Not yet, I’m still working on that. I need to go through.”

“What’s in there?”

“A friend and an idiot. You can look, there’s a ninety-nine per cent chance they won’t hurt you.” Then Kolya snorted. “‘Come out with your hands up?’”

“I saw it on TV once.” A Freedom stalker with a bare head peered in through the hatch and his jaw dropped. “Mat vasho! A Monolith and a Spetsnaz!”

“Ex-Spetsnaz,” Anton corrected, his voice tired in his own ears.

“And what about you?” the Freedom warrior said, looking at Yavoshenko.

“I’m the idiot,” Yavoshenko said.

“He’s not a Monolithian, he’s just stupid,” Kolya was saying outside.

“Well… you have… interesting friends, Kolya. Watch out near the bloodsucker village, we saw a bunch of chimeras there recently.”

“What, aren’t you going to shun me?” Kolya’s voice was sarcastic.

“Dude, don’t be mad at us for what Lukash said. We won’t tell him about the lunatic and the army dude in your tank.”

Kolya climbed back in and closed the hatch, then they continued driving at a much slower pace. Anton knew why—if they were at the Barrier, there would be many obstacles to avoid.

“I don’t think they’ll let me in dressed like this,” Yavoshenko said.

“Well, when was the first time you saw a fanatic?”

“When we went into the red forest.”

“Exactly. I’d be willing to bet that most Dutyers have no idea what a Monolithian is.”

“I still got to explain to Voronin why my whole squad’s dead, though.”

“Yeah, that part’s going to massively suck balls for you,” Anton agreed.

“Look on the bright side, Yavoshenko,” Kolya called back. “You could be in a massive amount of trouble and be uglier than a sunburned bloodsucker. Right now you’re only about as ugly as the ass of a pseudodog that backed into a Burner anomaly.”

“I actually think that a sunburned bloodsucker would be an improvement over a pseudodog’s scorched ass,” Anton said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Kolya agreed.

Yavoshenko growled. “Could you do something besides make fun of my face?”

“Sure!” Kolya answered enthusiastically. “You know, I thought about telling you to go fuck yourself before, but then I realized that I couldn’t because your dick is too small and you can’t!”

Anton snorted behind his facemask.

“Why do you think of this stuff, Kolya?” he asked.

“I just do. You want to hear a tall-tale I heard once?”

“Only if you keep driving slow and don’t crash us.”

“Once an old lone stalker came to the scientist’s camp at Yantar. ‘I’m too old to hunt for habar, but I cannot leave the Zone—I’ve been here for so long that I’ve become related with Her.’ The eggheads gladly accepted him (they demanded skilled stalkers), and he became a good advisor for them. One evening all the lab staff gathered at a get-together—chit- chat, talks and drinks. And that stalker was there, too. The conversation finally got to an end (they started at the question about women not being in the Zone and ended up on the inability to distinguish bloodsuckers’ sex). They almost decided to leave, when one of the young assistants addressed himself to the old stalker: ‘You’ve got experience, gone through the whole Zone… Maybe you even saw the Monolith?’ The old man hummed and hawed and finally said: ‘Well, I saw it.’ ‘What wish did you ask it to fulfill?’ ‘Happiness,’ the old man said, ‘for all in general and everybody in person.’ The scientists were listening attentively and questioning themselves: ‘How possible? The guy got granted a wish? Is he joking?’ The assistant let fall: ‘I wish we could see the Monolith, too… ’ ‘Why not? That’s quite possible,’ the stalker hummed. He reached for his backpack and took out a handful of stones. The stones were obviously not ordinary, nothing anybody of those present had ever seen before. The scientists grasped the stones—curiosity was overwhelming them. And the stalker was watching them, saw their eyes glittering with delight and happiness… ‘Take them, have them, as many as you like… I’ve got plenty of this “happiness” in my backpack, for all in general and everybody in person… ’, he kept muttering.”

“Where’d that come from?” Yavoshenko asked, obviously relieved that the subject had shifted to this topic.

“I heard it in the Cordon when I was a rookie stalker way back when. I’ve seen the Monolith, or the Wish-Granting Machine, if you can call it that. I wished for a Soul. Mikhail had a Soul, and before he died he gave it to me after I made my wish. I hope no one ever reaches it again. It’s a scam, a con. It grants your wish and is cruel in doing so.”

Anton hadn’t thought of this. He’d known that Kolya had wished for a Soul artifact, but before now the dots had not connected in his mind.

“I didn’t know that,” he said.

“Yeah. So… I guess you can blame me for his death, in a way,” Kolya said.

“No. You had no way of knowing.”

“Can we stop being grim? We got out of there, didn’t we?” Yavoshenko said.

“Hmm… well, I have a joke that you’ll appreciate, fatso. How do you know that pseudogiants have sex organs on their feet?”

“I give up.”

“They step on you and you’re screwed.”

“Did you hear that one in Freedom?” Anton asked.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Only they would think of something like that.”

“It’s true! Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh? What’s uh-oh?” Yavoshenko demanded.

“We’re running out of gas. We’ll have to stop in that village.”

“What village?” Anton asked.

“Remember when we all met and killed a merc? That village.”

The BTR gradually came to a stop. Anton unstrapped himself from his seat, then carefully pulled Mikhail’s body free from the restraints and carried him outside. It wasn’t raining, but it was chilly and dismal. Anton could see mist in the distance, and the sky was thick with grey clouds like a damp blanket. This seemed like a cruelly apt setting to bury his friend, though it would have been worse if it had been sunny and warm. Lacking a shovel, Anton was forced to take the folding one out of Mikhail’s webbing and dig the hole using that. Kolya felt very guilty, so they took turns digging while Yavoshenko stood guard. While Kolya was shoveling out the black dirt, Anton wandered over to one of the collapsed huts and picked out a suitable board.

“We should say something,” Kolya said when Mikhail had been set into his hole.

“You go first.”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“This was your idea and it makes me feel better.”

“Okay then. Uh… Misha, I’m sorry that I got you killed. I should have looked for that sniper more thoroughly, and I shouldn’t have let my greed get the better of me in the first place.”

Anton took a deep breath.

“Good-bye, Misha. I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry that my skills were inadequate to save you. I’m sorry for the fact that you had to put up with Yavoshenko, even for that brief time. And… I’m sorry that I had to kill one of your men. Vetsyenchuk was bleeding to death, so I gave him an over-dosage of morphine. I never told you. I was going to, later, I guess.”

This said, they scooped the dirt back in until all that showed was a mound. Anton took the board and stuck it into the recently-churned dirt, then set Mikhail’s helmet and facemask on the top of it.

“Well… it’s as nice as we can make it, I suppose. If it was spring… there might be some flowers…” Kolya said quietly.

“Yeah,” Anton agreed. “I’ll have to come back when there are some.”

“I’ll be right back,” Yavoshenko called.

“Why?”

“I need to take a piss.”

“Sorry I asked,” Kolya muttered.

The loner took off his curtain helmet and shook his head.

“Why are you doing that?”

“I’m sick of my own recycled breath.”

Both of them turned and looked at the horizon through the buildings, their backs to the APC. Anton listened to the silence of the world around, punctured only by the hissing of his breath inside his helmet. The sound of a knife sliding from its sheath caught his attention and he turned to look and see what Kolya was doing. Except it wasn’t Kolya. A Mercenary stood there, one hand forcing Kolya’s head back and the other holding a knife to his throat. How he’d managed to sneak up on them, Anton had no idea.

“Why are you here, stalker?” he demanded.

“We were burying our friend,” Anton said honestly.

“Really? That’s convenient.”

“No, really. We were just going to leave.”

“Lies. You’re looking for something, aren’t you?”

“Looking for something? What the hell are you talking about, man? There’s nothing here, we’ve already cleaned out the stash.”

The merc growled and pushed his knife tighter against Kolya’s neck. Kolya had his eyes closed and was obviously holding his breath and waiting to die.

“What was in it?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see it.” This wasn’t a lie. “Look. We’re not here to steal from you.”

“I don’t know that. Tell me what you saw.”

“A dead Mercenary.” Anton had been so fixated on Kolya that he hadn’t seen Yavoshenko come up behind the merc. “We saw a dead Mercenary. Soon, _you’ll_  be dead, Mercenary. Drop that weapon.”

Yavoshenko was standing behind the merc, tall and broad as a pillar and with his battered Groza’s barrel pressed to the back of the man’s head. Behind his gas mask, Anton could see Yavoshenko’s dark brown eyes narrowed to slits. He meant what he said.

The Mercenary could tell that this was the case and he let the knife fall from his hand. Kolya pulled free, then he and Anton also leveled their rifles at the merc, who held up his hands.

“What’s your name, merc?” Kolya demanded suddenly.

“Wolfhound.”

Anton’s eyes widened behind his helmet. An instant later his face twisted into an expression of outrage and he lunged at the merc, bellowing. Kolya kept his Dragunov SVU trained on Wolfhound, but Yavoshenko stopped Anton mid-leap and forced him back.

“LET GO OF ME! HE KILLED KOSTIK! HE KILLED KOSTIK!” Anton roared, struggling against Yavoshenko.

Before, when their roles had been reversed, he’d had the upper hand because he’d had firm footing and he’d been bracing against the Dutyer, but now he was trying to pull instead of push and he couldn’t get a solid grip with his feet. After a few moments he decided it was pointless and he stopped, breathing hard.

“Anton, let it go. He’s not worth it.”

“This coming from you?” Anton muttered, but he did not attack again when Yavoshenko let go of him.

The Dutyer pulled out his pistol and cocked it, then fired a single round into Wolfhound’s skull at point-blank range. Apparently Yavoshenko was fond of hollow-point ammunition, because the result was anything but a pretty sight.

“It would eat you,” Yavoshenko said, putting his handgun away and picking his assault rifle back up off the ground. “He’s just a piece of shit.”

Anton nodded, knowing that Yavoshenko was right. He watched the sergeant take off his gas mask and hood, then walk over to Kolya.

“Nikolay Turchakov.”

“What?”

“I was wrong about you.”

“Clearly.”

“You know, when I was getting out, everything that crossed my mind was that you’d be helpful because you can sense whenever things are about to attack or because you’re a sniper.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“Yes. I… I am sorry.”

 _You fucking should be_ , Anton thought, but he didn’t want to interrupt such a solemn moment.

“That’s good. You know, that’s really good of you. But you know, I’m sorry too.”

“Well—what? Why?”

“More accurately, I feel sorry for you. I’m still bigger than you,” Kolya grinned.

Yavoshenko growled and shoved Kolya, but Anton sensed that this wasn’t a real attack and did nothing to intervene.

“Yeah, you wanna bet?” Yavoshenko countered.

“Eighteen centimeters, baby,” Kolya chortled before he put his helmet back on.

“Can we talk about something else?” Anton groaned in annoyance.

“Do you feel threatened?”

“No, come on, just humor me,” he replied.

Kolya and Yavoshenko eventually found something else to argue about, but Anton wasn’t listening. Briefly, he checked his field compass, and as he marched down the road, he looked off into the distance, his eyes following the direction towards Chernigov.


	20. Epilogue

Vladislav limped into the Rostok Factory on sore feet and almost collapsed when he reached the first barricade. The three corporals who were stationed there didn’t know what to do, apparently, and Vladislav decided that Anton was right—few soldiers in the Duty faction had ever seen a fanatic.

“Captain Ivantsov, this is Corporal Slavshuk. A man in a weird uniform just stumbled in. He doesn’t seem hostile but he’s acting almost like a zombified stalker. What do we do?”

[ _Check for an ID and find out who he is, then report back._ ]

“Zombified?” Vladislav snorted. “Yeah right. I’m tired and injured and I got a hangover to slay a boar.”

He pulled down his hood and took off the green gas mask. Immediately the three guards stiffened in surprise.

“S-Sergeant, uh, I, I didn’t recognize you,” Slavshuk stuttered.

“No shit,” Vladislav grunted dryly, then held out his ID to the corporal.

“Um, go ahead, sergeant.” Slavshuk pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Captain Ivantsov, I was wrong before, it’s Sergeant Yavoshenko and he’s dressed funny.”

[ _Oh, damn, he actually made it back? Send him in._ ]

Vladislav rolled his eyes as he took back his ID. He shuffled past the three dumbstruck guards and into the central area of the bar. Many lone stalkers who inhabited the area stared, and some even raised their guns only to have ten Duty faction rifles raised at them in turn.

“Monolith! One of them is in the bar!” one brave stalker shouted. “Since when does Duty protect people like them?”

“I’m not a lunatic, you dumbass!” Vladislav bellowed back, annoyed. “I’m a sergeant of the Duty faction!” This said, he made it to the barrier at the main base but had to stop and lean against the wall of a building while Plichko studied his ID. “Dammit, Plichko, you know it’s me,” he growled.

“I can never be too sure with you, especially now we know you’ve been running around with a Spetsnaz and a Freedom warrior who dresses up like a merc.”

“He’s not in Freedom, he’s a loner, they gave him the boot.”

“Suuuure they did. Unfortunately your ID is real, so I have to let you in.”

Ivantsov waited for him outside the entrance to Petrenko’s office.

“Now I’ve seen everything, Sergeant Yavoshenko. First you come in with a Spetsnaz and a Mercenary. Then we find out secondhand that said Mercenary is actually a Freedomer. Now, here you are, your squad is apparently dead or they would be with you, and you are dressed like a Monolithian fanatic. What’s next?”

“My squad’s dead, sir. They were killed in Pripyat, and they all died hero’s deaths.” He decided to leave out Zalikev’s suicide—it would do no good for him to speak ill of the dead. “I only got out with the help of two loners. I know you’re probably going to demote me, because I have no witnesses to prove it. But it won’t bring those soldiers back. And I think that you should at least commend them—they fought five times harder than anyone standing here in this factory.”

Ivantsov appeared to be thinking about this. Then he frowned. “Wait here, sergeant. I must talk to Petrenko.”

Vladislav sat down with his back against a wall while Ivantsov went into Petrenko’s office. It seemed forever for them to emerge. Petrenko walked over to him.

“We can’t decide what to do with you on our own, Sergeant. You probably dread this fact, but General Voronin must get involved. This has never happened before.”

 _Obviously_ , Vladislav thought, but he didn’t say it because he knew that it would only seal his fate as a corporal.

They disappeared for many more minutes. Vladislav had almost fallen asleep when the three of them walked over and Ivantsov kicked his boots to rouse him. Vladislav growled, but then he saw Voronin and got to his feet so he could stand to attention.

“At ease, sergeant. Considering the fact that your entire squad is dead and injured, I _would_ demote you.”

Vladislav’s shoulders slumped. “I deserve it, sir, I failed my mission.”

“I’m not finished, Yavoshenko. But the fact that you came back alive and are able to tell us about it means that I won’t. And you didn’t fail, because I never gave you a mission in the first place other than to go to Pripyat. Aside from all of this, you’ve been right before, and I believe that what you say is true. For this, and for the fact that you made it to Pripyat and back, your experience makes you invaluable, and I am going to give you a promotion—you’ll have your own squad, and I’m sending you to Yanov to serve under Lieutenant-Colonel Shulga.”

Vladislav fought to keep a grin from his face. Instead, he saluted.

“Thank you, sir. But… can I please rest first?”

“Yes, I’ll tell Shulga to expect you about the end of the week.”

Vladislav nodded and saluted again, then relaxed once Voronin went back to his “office” in the bunker.

“Incidentally, everyone took bets about how many of your squad would come back,” Ivantsov said.

“What did Plichko say?”

“All dead. He’s really pissed.”

“I live to make him angry, sir.”

Through his happiness at finally being back and at being promoted, exhaustion tugged at him. He went into the area designated for sleeping and dropped this gear beside one of the bunks, then took off his boots and the grey fatigues so that all he wore was the brown radiation suit that went under a Monolithian’s uniform. Laying down and pulling the blankets over himself, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

 

*

 

Kolya sighed as he climbed the stairs of the apartment building. After having driven for more than a day, he’d had plenty of time to stew about his ill-gotten Soul, and he held it in his right hand as he climbed. His boots were heavy, and he decided that he could probably have done without his SEVA suit—he’d been in the Zone so long it hadn’t occurred to him to take it off.

When he knocked on the door it took a few moments for his mother to open it.

“Kolya! I haven’t seen you in months!” she exclaimed.

Kolya pulled his mother into a hug.

“I’m back, mama. I found one of the miracles that I was looking for.”

“Oh, well, come in, I want to see this miracle.”

Kolya went in and closed the door behind him, then sat down in the kitchen.

“Do you want some tea?”

Tea? How long had it been since he’d had that?

“Yes, please, I haven’t had tea in forever,” he replied.

While she prepared it, Kolya just stared at the Soul in his hands. It was laden with tragedy—he’d risked his life to obtain one even after his father had already died, and in receiving it his friend had been killed. Now that he had it, he didn’t want it anymore because it had come at too high of a price.

“Is this the miracle?” his mother asked, handing him a cup and nodding at the artifact.

“Yes,” he answered, _and no_ , he thought.

Kolya handed it to her and she turned it over in her hands.

“It feels very warm.”

“It heals you. It can heal almost anything. My friend Toshka got shot in the side and it made him better.”

“I wish you’d found one for your papa in time.”

“I know, mama. I wish that too. Even after I found out, I kept looking.”

“Now that you found it, will you go back?”

“No. I never want to see that place again.”

 

*

 

Anton swallowed as he walked into the orphanage. He had no idea what he would say to Sofya if she was even here, and if he did find her, where could he take her? He had no home to bring her to.

“Can I help you?” screeched a scrawny, mean-looking woman at the desk.

“I’m looking for my daughter.”

“We have lots of daughters here. Name?”

“Gorodyetskaya Sofya Antonovna. She has brown hair and brown eyes, and her nose looks like mine.”

“Hmm…” The woman flipped through a thick book with many things written in it in shaky cursive. “Ah, here she is. Dead mother, father missing?”

“Yes, that’s her. I came to get her.”

“She’s been here for three months, you’ll have to pay.”

That was complete unfairness in Anton’s mind. He didn’t have any money and he knew it. Rummaging his webbing, he wondered if he could bribe her off with vodka, but that probably only worked in the Zone. Then his hand brushed something smooth and round, and he pulled out his glowing blue Flash artifact and a light lit in his mind.

“I don’t have any money, but if you go to the Army and sell this to them you’ll be a very rich lady,” he said.

She looked at him suspiciously, but the Flash was so nice looking that he could tell she was having a hard time resisting it. Eventually she accepted it.

“One moment,” she grumped, disappearing behind one of the doors.

Anton was getting impatient by the time the door opened again. Sofya came out, then saw him and ran over.

“Papa you came back!” she screamed, holding her arms out in front of her.

Anton scooped her up into his arms and held her to his chest in a crushing hug. She leaned her small head on top of his shoulder and tears came to his eyes.

“I missed you, Sofya.”

“Why did you leave, papa?” she asked.

“I… I had to do something… I’m going to take you home, now.”

“We’re going home? The lady said I could never go back home.”

“Well… we… we’re going to a new home,” he stammered, carrying her out the door.

“Where is it?”

“A little bit of a drive from here, it’s a big place where anything can happen. Sometimes you can find miracles there,” he said, thinking of Kolya.

“Miracles?”

“Yes. Miracles. We’re going to go home to where the miracles are, and I’m never going to leave you behind again.”

“Promise?” she asked.

“Yes. I promise.”


End file.
